


It Takes a Lot out of You

by InvertedPhantasmagoria



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eventual Happy Ending, Food Issues, Forgiveness, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, More tags to be added, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Rescuing the miserable titan kids, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Trust Issues, excessive headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvertedPhantasmagoria/pseuds/InvertedPhantasmagoria
Summary: —living, that is.Basically, this is my attempt at giving the Titan Trio something happy. It's a reader insert story about helping the poor kids, and them hopefully figuring out how to function again, after, you know, being forced to commit horrible crimes that have obviously left awful mental scars. Canon was not nice to these kids, and I'm going to do them better.Spoilers(?) abound. I don't know canon very well, and this is pretty much me doing what I want with kids who deserve better. May or may not match up with canon, depending on how much I remember. Idk. I'm doing this because I love my kids, not because I care too much about the manga they're from.





	1. Human, behave yourself, you have burst at the seams

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, this is going to be the start of a _long_ mess. Before we even start, I gotta admit that I don't know a thing about SnK. I care about these three kids and not much else, and this story is going to be a mess of whatever I remember/can look up, canon compliance wise. Like everything I write, it will be heavily headcanon based, and is really just one huge act of love for the kids that I care about. 
> 
> Anyway, to the point of the story! :D Chapter 1 here is really just setting up the basic premise of what I have in mind, and also to show what kind of guilt/severe mental trauma Annie is dealing with. Oh, and it's going to be just Annie for a little while. I'm sort of matching this up with the canon timeline-which means Annie winds up in our world during the crystal incident, and Bertl and Reiner only show up after they've revealed themselves. 
> 
> The next couple chapters are going to be mostly Annie getting settled and learning some trust for Reader, and, since I take requests on pretty much everything I do, I'll happily take _suggestions_ for things people would like to see happen!
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy the story~!

The last thing Annie remembers is sealing herself away in the crystal. 

It was a final resort, the only thing she could possibly do when cornered and desperate not to be caught. She wasn’t proud of restorting to such a thing, didn’t want to be _trapped_ potentially forever in a prison of her own making, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Annie was desperate, she’ll admit, and that was the last move she could think to make. 

But Annie fully expected to be trapped there for a while, if not forever, expected to wake up in the middle of where the military had finally carved her out of the crystal and were ready to torture her. 

(She didn’t want that. She didn’t want that. She just wanted to go home to her father and forget _how many people she’s **killed**_.)

Instead, Annie wakes up on her back, aching everywhere, with no crystal in sight. 

The world is a blur of pain at first, and it takes Annie a minute to realize where she is. She has to force herself to think, calm her rapidly beating heart and _breathe_ and force her eyes to open, but when she does, she recognizes nothing. 

She’s staring up at a sky that somehow feels more blue than any she’s ever seen, white puffs of clouds floating slowly across the empty sky. Twisting her head around reveals sparse woodland, a fence in the near distance, and trees so blurry even at this short distance that Annie has to close her eyes and reorient herself. Everything feels fuzzy and blurry, and she can tell already by the pounding behind her eyes that she has some kind of head injury. How bad, she can’t say. 

The next thing Annie takes in is how badly she hurts. There’s pain arching and twisting through all of her body, and everything she can still feel feels mangled and crushed. Her limbs feel far away and numb, and there’s a stabbing pain working its way through her torso. 

Her head is worst of all, pounding with agony even as she breathes. Her skull is probably cracked, if not worse, some kind of damage to her brain affecting her nerves and how well she can feel. 

Annie is suddenly, painfully grateful that she can heal. 

There’s absolutely nothing she can do to move, and, in a moment that she surely would have been punished for if she was back home, Annie gives up on trying. Her head hurts. She doesn’t _want_ to go back. 

All Annie can think about is what she can last remember; being revealed as a traitor, being hunted down like any other titan, seeing the scorn and hatred on the faces of the people she’d spent years with. It hurts. It hurts like a physical thing eating its way through her chest, and Annie is abruptly so _glad_ that she never got close. 

She can only imagine what this would feel like if she’d allowed herself to care, how much more pain she’d be in. 

Annie laid there for an amount of time that she wasn’t really sure of, thinking and floating and _hurting_ like nothing else. Her injuries had to be healing, if slowly, and she was only afraid of what would happen when they eventually found her. Whatever had happened, however she’d gotten away from the crystal and her pursuers, it was highly unlikely that they’d left her here to die so easily. 

(That would have been better. She would have rather died where she was like the filthy pathetic cowardly traitor they all knew she was.)

But just when she was about to blur out of consciousness again, slowly giving up on her own continued existence, a person inched into her awareness somewhere above her. 

Annie realized with a start that someone was standing over her. Her vision was still too blurry to make out much, but this had to be, had to be it. She was going to be captured and taken back to the military and tortured and forced to tell them everything about her home and she wouldn’t even have another chance to seal herself away. 

Abruptly, panic set in, and, making some horrible croaking noise, Annie tried to scoot away. She knew that she couldn’t get far, as wounded as she was, but her body wouldn’t _let_ her stay still.

It hurt to move. It hurt to think. Tears were rolling down her face hot and sloppy before she could stop them, and the panic that was worming its way into her chest felt like something with claws. 

Above her, the person suddenly moved. Falling to your knees next to her, you gently grabbed her shoulders, ignoring the frantic, shuddering moan that slid out of Annie’s mouth and helping her sit up. 

Somewhere lower than she could really feel, Annie’s limbs twitched and jolted in a desperate effort to get away, her breath pulling tight in her chest as the reality that she was going to _die_ sunk in. It was painful already, she already felt like she was dying for the lack of breath in her chest, and she could only imagine how much worse it would be once you actually started doing something that hurt.

But instead, you started talking, low, soothing words that Annie’s frantic mind only half registered. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Please stop moving before you hurt yourself. You don’t look like you should be moving yet. . .”

Your tone was soft and gentle, hands tender where they met with Annie’s clothed shoulders, and eventually, Annie quit trying to get away, slumping back into your arms with a rattling breath that felt like a death heave, all the air leaving her in one painful shudder. 

“It’ll be okay,” you murmured, rubbing one hand over Annie’s shoulder in a motion that only made pain spark hot and tight in her chest. “I’m helping you, see? I’m not going to do anything bad.”

Annie didn’t believe it for a second. She knew who she was, what she was wanted for, and exactly who would be coming after her. Even if you weren’t someone who would do the hurting, you’d just turn her over to someone who would. 

But there wasn’t a thing Annie could do about it. She felt tired and heavy, body sluggish and hot with pain. She knew she was healing, slowly, that these injuries wouldn’t kill her on their own, and that was the only bit of comfort she got before her consciousness started to fade, vision going blurry as she fought frantically to stay awake. 

You could do _anything_ to her while she was asleep. She could wake up in the custody of the military with no idea of how she got there and no last memories to hold onto before the pain started for good. 

Annie _didn’t want_ to sleep and wake up to that. 

Injured as she was, she had little choice, and before long, Annie felt her eyelids starting to close. 

With a last, miserable little whine, Annie passed out in your arms, bloody body going limp all at once as all the fight shuddered out of her. She collapsed heavy where you were holding her up, head lolling back at a bad angle as the willpower keeping her up all at once fell away. 

And Annie slept. 

. . . 

When Annie woke up the second time, it was to pain burning bright and hot through every part of her. 

Gasping, her body tried to shoot up, tried to sit up and wriggle away from the _hurt_ , but no part of her would move. Agony was lancing through everything she could feel, which fortunately was everything this time, and Annie had only a moment to force her ragged breathing to calm, to force her spasming limbs to go still and accept the ache. 

Eyes screwed shut, Annie tried to take note of what she could feel. She’d gone from being numb almost everywhere to being able to _feel_ everything and every part of her, and that, at least, was a good sign. 

As much as it hurt, it meant she was healing. Her body was starting to do what it was supposed to and fix her, and even if it felt like she was being torn apart, at least whatever had been wrong with her head had faded enough for her to feel all her extremities again. 

Annie tried to count her blessings, tried to think that healing at least meant she could _get away_ , but all she really thought of was the pain. 

(It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt _it hurt it hurt it hurt **it hurt**_ why why why why why why did she have to live through this why couldn’t she have just died and been done with it all)

After a long moment of aching and trying to see what parts of her she could still wiggle, Annie was suddenly hit with the memory. 

Someone had come to her. Someone had tried to move her. She was _captured_ by someone who’s motives she didn’t know. 

All at once, Annie’s blood ran cold. 

Quickly taking note of her surroundings, hoping that she could figure out something that meant she would make it through this alive, Annie forced her eyes open and scanned the place where she had been left. 

It was a bedroom, large and open, bigger than any personal room she’d ever been in. The furniture was strange and foreign, the designs unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It looked somehow more complex, more detailed than anything she’d seen, and while the basic concepts were still the same, the materials and styles seemed completely wrong. 

Annie herself was lying on a bed padded with the softest blankets she’d ever felt. What she could feel brushing against her skin was vaguely like the expensive silk she’d once had a chance to touch on a mission, but even softer, somehow both woven and gentle against her skin. There were pillows behind her that were softer than anything had any right to be, and she was wrapped up in enough blankets that there was faint warmth all around her. 

It was comfortable, shockingly so, and if it wasn’t for the sheer pain still bursting through every part of her, Annie thought this might be the most good she’d ever felt. 

Warriors weren’t allowed to have soft beds and time to rest when they weren’t in use. 

But that made no difference. Whatever reason she’d been placed in such a comfortable bed meant nothing. She was still a captive, still a prisoner, and she could be handed over to someplace much, much worse at any second. She wasn’t safe, she wasn’t safe at all, and with every bit of consciousness Annie got back she also gained a greater terror. 

The reality of it all was slowly sinking in, now that the adrenaline was fading from her veins. She’d revealed herself. She’d failed her mission. She could never go back. She could _never go back_. 

Breath coming short in her chest, Annie heard a faint whining noise and realised it was herself. Her fists were clenching in the blankets without her body’s permission, muscles in her jaw tightening like taut rope. She was falling into a panic, and with her head spinning like something her Warrior had swung once not too long ago, Annie was helpless to stop it. 

She’d never see her father again, she realized, a miserable moan forcing its way from her throat. She’d never be able to go home again. She was doomed to die a prisoner in some horrible cell being tortured for all the information her helpless self had ever been allowed to know. 

Just as Annie’s panic was reaching critical levels, just as she was starting not to be able to _breathe_ through the terror clawing its way up her throat, the door opened. 

You stepped in, and every part of Annie went tense and fearful. This was where it started. This was where the nice beds and soft blankets went away and where she was handed over to meet her fate. 

“How are you, um, feeling?” you asked, sitting down on a chair placed next to the bed and offering a tentative smile. “You were hurt pretty bad from what I could see.”

Annie’s voice caught in her throat when she tried to respond, panic making everything go tight and hard to move. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to tell you anything. She wanted to go back to sleep and never have to deal with any of this ever again. 

“What am I here for?” was what she eventually said, voice cold. 

“What do you mean?” you asked in response, looking sort of confused. Annie didn’t know why. You knew why you had her here. 

“What did you move me for? And what do you intend to do with me?”

“Oh, um, I was trying to help you. There aren’t really any hospitals around here, or I would have taken you to one, really! I was going to try that next, but you woke up before I had the chance,” you said, and Annie heard only the part of that that made her panic all the more. 

“When are you going to hand me over to them?” Better to bite the bullet and get it done with. She’d have to know eventually, and it might be easier if she had some time to prepare herself. 

“Unless you mean the hospital staff, I’m not handing you over to anyone. Are you alright? You seem a little confused.” Your voice was filled with concern, and you leaned forward with one hand reaching out towards Annie’s face. 

Immediately, Annie jerked back as much as her broken body could manage, a high, terrified sound slipping out of her as she tried to squirm away. Was this where the hurting finally started?

“Whoah, whoah, easy there.” You jerked back instantly, obligingly pulling your hand back to your side and away from Annie’s face. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

A desperate noise tore itself out of Annie’s throat at the lie. Why would you say that? Why would you try to give her false hope when the both of you knew what was coming?

“Quit _lying_ ,” she hissed, voice sounding acidic even to her own ears. 

“Wait, lying about what?” you asked, raising your hands in a gesture of surrender that just made Annie feel more wild. 

“We both know what you’re going to do with me; quit pretending like you don’t know.” Practically growling now, Annie could feel every part of her tensing like a bow string. She wanted to run or hide or get away or _something_ , but her body wouldn’t listen and her mind was trapped in panic. 

“Okay, okay, easy. Can we start from the beginning, please?” Your voice had taken on a tender tone, soft and pacifying, and Annie hated it. How dare you be _nice_ to her before what you were going to do.

(She hated even more how it made her go limp, her weak, injured body finally giving out under her at the soft words.)

“What do you think I’m going to do with you?” you continued, soft and easy as if Annie’s life wasn’t riding on what you chose to do with her. 

“You’re going to hand me over to the military. You’re going to give me to the people that– that– Y-You’re going to give me over to them and I’m never going to get to go _home_ ever again and– and– and–” Once Annie started talking, started with something blatantly obvious, the words came pouring out of her like water. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t get a hold of her traitorous tongue and avoid giving away to you just how terrified she was. 

“Woah, okay. I’m not, I promise. I’m not going to give you over to anyone. You’re going to stay right here until you want to leave, okay?” you asked, as if Annie had a choice. 

You could do anything to her. She was helpless and hurt and had no place to go. Her very survival depended on if you were kind enough to hand her over to the people that would at least give her an easy way to die. Annie felt absolutely sick, bile rising in her throat as her head spun. 

She was panicking, she knew, but couldn’t stop, and before she knew it, she was arching forward, as far as her battered body would let her, keening a low, broken sound of absolute terror, limbs curling in as far as she could make them even through the pain that wracked her with every little move she made. 

Before she knew it, there was a soft hand on her back, warmth spreading through her bruised flesh and gentle circles traced over the bloodied cloth covering her. The tenderness hurt almost more than the movement, and Annie _howled_ into her hands. She was so scared. She wanted to go home. 

She wanted to go back to a place that would want nothing to do with her ever again, nothing to do with a broken warrior who couldn’t even accomplish one simple mission. 

She had nothing left. She had nowhere to go. Her entire life was now riding on what you chose to do with her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. For as strong as she’d been trained to be, she was helpless, and Annie was so scared she could feel the terror clawing its way up her throat. 

Heaving, Annie’s body finally tried to reject whatever it was that was keeping her from breathing, but all that came up was a thin line of bile. Her throat felt raw from the noises she’d been making, and the line of it _burned_ as acid climbed up the inside. Limbs spasming, Annie clawed at her own throat, dry heaves wracking her as all the fear tried to find some place to go. 

Eventually, it slowed, body easing back from trying to force everything inside of her out, and Annie slumped forward, suddenly too tired to even hold herself up. 

You were still rubbing her back, thankfully far away from her neck, and Annie just barely registered the soft, even circles with a shudder. She hadn’t been touched outside of sparring in so long, it didn’t feel right. 

“Easy, easy, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re going to be okay.” You were murmuring soft things, gentle reassurances and empty words of comfort that made Annie want to scream. 

You kept rubbing, kept talking until Annie was able to slowly lean back to the pillows behind her, whole body weak and limp from sustaining the fear that was the only thing keeping her upright. She slumped back against the softness, eyes closing for a moment as exhaustion ate at her bones. 

“Alright, can you explain something to me, please?” you asked, softly, as if Annie had any choice. 

She nodded anyway, too afraid to refuse. 

“Who are you? And where are you from? I’d sort of thought the clothes were just a strange fashion choice, but I’m starting to realize that something is _really_ wrong here. I don’t think we’re on the same page at all.”

“I’m a traitor,” Annie whispered, too tired to lie. “I’m at fault for the fall of Wall Maria and the death of thousands. I’m from. . . I c-can’t– I can’t say that. . .”

“Okay, we are _definitely_ not thinking the same things. I don’t know what Wall Maria is, if that tells you anything.”

Annie went cold everywhere, heart almost stopping at your words. It didn’t make any sense. Where was she? Where was this? What kind of place was she in that they didn’t even know about the walls? If she was back home, someone else would have come for her, and even then, that didn’t explain how she’d possibly gotten away. 

The only explanation Annie could think of was that she’d been abandoned, thrown away like the trash she was after– after– And that was where Annie quit having any guesses. 

Her head hurt, aching, pounding with an awful pain that Annie couldn’t do anything to think through. She was so tired. She just wanted to go back to sleep and pretend like none of this was happening, like she could wake up and be back with her father with none of this being real. 

“I don’t– Where _am_ I?” Annie asked, half frantic, praying the answer would be something better than she was imagining. 

“A country called America, about dead center in the middle of it.”

Confusion lanced cold through her, not the slightest bit of recognition sounding at the name. She wasn’t home, but she wasn’t where she’d last known herself to be, either. Annie hoped that that might mean she was a little bit safe. If you didn’t know what the walls were, there would be no reason to hunt her down, would there? 

Fragile, glass like hope began to bloom in Annie’s chest. 

“Do you, d-do you know what Marley is? The walls? The titans?” Words spilling out of her before she could stop them, Annie turned towards you. 

“Nope. Not a bit of that.” And Annie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Were you lying to her? Were you going to turn around and reveal that you’d known all along just when she started to let her guard down? 

Annie didn’t know what to do. She was tired. She hurt everywhere. She felt so close to giving up. Nothing that had happened to her yet made any sense, and now you were saying that you didn’t _know_ anything about the whole world that she’d came from?

But Annie was so tired. She been fighting for years, and she was reaching her limit. Her mind felt like it had been run through a meat grinder, her body battered and weak, and she didn’t have much more energy to keep going as she had. She’d been raised to be a warrior, but everything was going wrong. She’d already failed at one mission, already ruined everything she’d been meant to do, and by now, there was nothing left. 

With a sigh that felt more like a death rattle, Annie gave up. 

“Okay. . .” she breathed, feeling the willpower to keep fighting leeching out of her with every breath. “I’ll believe you. You don’t know what anything I’ve done means, and you’re– y-you’re–” At that part, she had to pause, breathing deep, shaking breaths and trying to force herself to believe what didn’t seem real. “You’re not going to turn me in.”

Her hands were shaking, she realized, looking down at her callused, trembling fingers, bitten short nails spattered with dried blood and bruised purple-red. They looked so small, like this, so helpless. 

“What are you going to do with me?” Annie asked, doing anything to distract herself from how weak she felt. 

“Well, considering that the wounds you had when I picked you up look halfway healed already, I’m starting to doubt that you need to go to a hospital. Is that right?” you asked, as if it wasn’t some horrible, terrible thing that she could regenerate like a _monster_. 

“Yes. Th-That’s right. I’ll heal on my own soon enough.” 

“Okay. Then I’ll give you a place to stay. I don’t. . . I don’t know where you’re from, or why you’re hurt, or why you’re so scared, but I promise I won’t turn you over to anyone that will hurt you. It’s your choice if you want to stay or go, but I’ll give you somewhere safe to stay if you want it.” You said those words so easily, as if you weren’t offering safety to one of humanity’s greatest betrayers. You didn’t know anything. 

Annie felt absolutely sick. 

“I’ll. . . I’ll stay. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Admitting it hurt somewhere deep inside Annie’s chest, like bone and flesh being torn apart, but it was true. She didn’t have a home anymore. 

“Okay, good. I’ll do my best to help you get better,” you said, smiling gently as Annie tried to swallow her guilt. 

If this was all true, you were a good person, the kind that never should have had to bother with her. She was a killer, a monster, a warrior, and you weren’t anyone who should have been burdened with anything like her. Annie had a feeling you were telling the truth, and that only made her feel sicker. She was going to force you to play nursemaid to a killer of thousands, you who had no knowledge of everything she’d done wrong. 

“So,” you continued, “what do you need? I know it’ll be a good idea to get you cleaned up and get all that blood off you soon, but is there anything else I can do? You said you’d heal on your own, but can I do anything to help with that?”

Annie swallowed heavily, as if she could choke down the guilt. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll be okay. I can heal. . . I can heal from almost anything.” As if admitting that wouldn’t have gotten her killed while she’d still been with the “friends” she’d had before. 

“Okay, but can I help? Whether you can heal or not, I bet it hurts to be all messed up like that. What can I do to make it hurt less for you?”

Oh. Oh, this wasn’t fair. No one had shown this much concern over whether or not Annie was hurting in– in– in possibly forever, and it felt so _strange._

Back home, she was supposed to be a warrior, known to be able to recover from any wounds they gave her. In the military, she’d been expected to be a soldier, expected to take whatever battle wounds she got and still be happy to serve. This kind of care, this concern, wasn’t fair at all. 

Annie looked down, eyes scrunching up as she tried not to think about what she was doing, how she was giving up. Her heart was beating double-time in her chest, pounding like the footsteps of a titan. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to move for a while,” she said, hesitantly, forcing herself to admit how weak she felt. “I think my limbs are damaged, or maybe something to do with my spine. It’ll all heal eventually but, well, I’m going to be pretty helpless for a while.”

Ducking her head even further, Annie tried not to think about what you could do to her. Half consciously, her hand, pulling at all sorts of painful things as it moved, fluttered up to cover the back of her neck. It was a small comfort, something that _shouldn’t_ make her feel any safer, but it did. Just protecting that weak spot made her feel a little less like she could be killed at any moment you got sick of this. 

“I think. . . this is the most I can move without help,” Annie admitted, voice weak and shaky as she spoke. 

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll help you if you need to move, then,” you said, as if it meant nothing to see her at her weakest. “I think we should try to get you cleaned up soon. All that blood looks like it would be pretty uncomfortable to have on you.”

Annie nodded, faintly, hand still pressed tight over her weak point. You didn’t even know what a titan was, would have no idea what it meant, but it made her feel safer just to _hide_. As if it would protect her at all, as weak as she still felt, as torn up and battered as her small body was. 

“Yes, that would be, w-would be nice.” Annie still felt too panicked to care too much about the gore covering her. She knew it would hurt to move, didn’t want to force herself up and away from what she’d started, shamefully, to think of as the safety of the bed. She could pretend like nothing was wrong as long as she stayed down, wouldn’t have to face just how weak she’d be in her injured state. 

(If she moved she could be taken away, you could hand her over to _them_ , she could be hurt and tortured and put through pain like nothing she’d ever experienced and oh the fear burned hot behind her eyelids searing through her brain.)

Breath coming short once again, Annie’s vision began to quit tracking again. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t think, her chest felt heavy and thick with fear. Everything hurt, everything ached, inside and out she was in so much pain why wouldn’t it _stop_. 

Annie wanted to hide, anything to stop you from seeing this again, anything to get away. 

Ragged, sharp breaths tearing through her torn up chest, Annie’s mind started to blur. She was trapped here. She could never go home. Her safety depended on if you wanted to take care of her. 

And oh, oh she was so afraid. 

“Easy, easy,” you were whispering, soft as ever, but this time not daring to get close. Annie had a brief thought on how this wasn’t fair, how she didn’t deserve to be near someone who thought she was worth taking care of, and then everything went fuzzy all over again. 

“Okay,” Annie faintly heard you say, “I’m going to leave now. I feel like I’m just making you panic more. I’ll be right in the next room, and I’ll come back to check on you soon. You’re safe here, I promise.”

With that, you were gone, Annie’s mind too blurry to quite track the moment you left. She was alone, then, hunched over in a bed softer than anything she’d ever felt, one hand pressed over the only place that could kill her in a desperate, terrified move of trying to comfort herself. She felt small and weak, terrified beyond belief and _hurting_ through every part of her, and she didn’t know what to do. 

She couldn’t go home. The mission was gone. Home was gone. She was somewhere where the people didn’t even know what titans were, didn’t know what she’d done, and for all she knew, she could never go back. 

Before she could stop herself, Annie was crying, hot tears dripping down her face and blurring her vision any further. Heavy, howling sobs were tearing their way out of her throat, horrible noises that sounded more like a dying animal than a girl, and Annie hated herself more with every one. 

This wasn’t _fair_. She’d only ever done as she was told, only ever been too weak to stand up for herself, and now she was paying the price. She wasn’t tortured but in a soft bed, left to deal with every bit of guilt for anything she’d ever done, left with a battered body and blood coating her skin that was, for once, her own. She hurt everywhere, her thoughts more painful that anything, and for all the air in the room she couldn’t _**breathe**_. 

Sobbing, Annie fell over onto her side, hand falling away from her neck and curling in tight to her chest. She forced herself to move, limbs curling up and in into a tight little ball that was the safest she could make herself. 

The blankets were soft and warm around her, and that only made everything hurt all the worse. She didn’t deserve this. She should have been in a cell somewhere awaiting her death, not protected and safe in a warm little bed where her past was far away. 

_She just wanted to go home._

Eventually, Annie slipped into an uneasy sleep, exhaustion weighing her down until there was no fight left in her. 

She was too tired to do anything else, too worn out from the battle and her injuries and the war going on inside her head to do anything but sleep, and the only fortunate thing was that she didn’t dream. 

What Annie couldn’t see was how _small_ she looked, curled up in soft blue sheets with her blood-matted blonde hair falling around her face like a shield. She couldn’t see the tear tracks running lines down her bloody, bruised face, the strained, unguarded look her features slid into as she slept. 

If she had, she would have hated herself all the more.


	2. But there was no sound, there was only me and my disgrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I wrote this faster than I expected I would. 6300 words in two days. . . I think I'm pretty excited about this story. I'm definitely not gonna complain about being able to update quickly, though, and hopefully I'll be able to keep up the pace! :D
> 
> Got some important things done in this chapter, with Annie starting to get settled in, and next time there's going to be a _big_ talk about who she is and where she's from. As much as I love my angst, the point here is to make things nice for the titan kids, so things will just get better and better for Annie as they go. It's making me really happy to write about her getting some positive attention for once OAO 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you can! Feedback encourages me to write, and I'll be able to publish new chapters much faster if I get some encouragement.

Annie wakes up to blood on her lips and a fuzz in her head. She feels like she’s slept for years, even though the orange glow outside the one window tells her it’s only sunset. 

She still hurt just about everywhere, but quite a bit less than before. Her fingers can be felt clearly now, her limbs feel under her control again, and that’s as much of a victory as anything Annie gets these days. Laying still for a long few moments, she breathes deep and heavy, taking in as much air as her lungs can handle in an effort to stay calm. 

Memories came rushing back to her quickly, once the brief moment of peace from a heavy sleep faded away. She was soon choking back guilt all over again, thick and dark in her throat, remembering all too well what it felt like to see betrayal on the faces of people she’d spent years beside. 

It was all her fault. She’d been too weak to do anything but obey, and every awful thing that had happened to her had been her fault alone. 

Guilt crawling up her windpipe like something with claws, Annie slowly untangled herself from the little knot she’d curled into in her sleep. Every little movement sent pain arcing up her spine, and she was forced to move slowly, feeling her helplessness all too clearly as she fought just to sit up. 

Once she was back to sitting up, Annie couldn’t help but make a face at her own weakness. She felt pathetic, struggling over such small movements, faintly furious with herself for not healing _faster_. 

Really, it was sort of strange that she hadn’t healed yet, and the only thing Annie could really think to blame was sheer mental exhaustion weighing her down. It made sense that her healing could be impeded by stress, as pathetic as that made her feel, and Annie had little choice but to accept the idea as reality. 

It wasn’t like there was anyone around to tell her otherwise anymore. 

Annie’s hands were shaking faintly, she realized, her whole body trembling from exhaustion and fear. She was still scared of what would happen next, of what you could do to her while she had no choice but to stay down, and it was through willpower alone that Annie fought back another moment of panic. 

She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to let the unreachable facade she’d spent years cultivating die so easily, but she was _terrified_ , fear cold and heavy in her gut like she’d swallowed it whole. 

Annie knew what it felt like to have her insides torn out piece by piece. Annie also knew that the sick kind of terror she was feeling now wasn’t all too different. 

Wishing she could just stop _thinking_ , Annie flopped back against the pillows, savoring the way the agony blocked out her thoughts. It would be easier if you were doing a lot of hurting right now, easier not to think about how miserable she really was, simpler than the weird loop of panic and safety she was stuck in now. 

After a while longer of just sitting there, unable to quite keep track of how long had passed, the door opened and you stepped inside the room. 

All Annie did was turn her head towards you, too tired to do much more than acknowledge that you were there. Maybe you wouldn’t decide to hurt her if you knew she knew you were there. It was a flimsy hope, based in paranoia, but it was all the hope Annie had. 

“Good evening. Did you sleep well? I checked on you a couple other times, but you were out cold,” you said, smiling softly and sitting down in the chair behind her, just the same as last time. 

Annie felt a bolt of panic run through her. You’d been in the room while she was sleeping. You’d seen her _helpless_ and she didn’t wake up. You could have done anything to her while she was out, and she’d fallen asleep in front of you like it was safe to be helpless. How could she be so stupid? How could she be so relaxed? She was in danger here in this strange place, not lazing around the barracks like– like– 

Panic started to choke her all over again, fear of being seen while she couldn’t fight back, and most shamefully of all, it was your voice that tore her out of it. 

“Easy, it’s okay, I didn’t do anything, I promise.” You were talking soft and gentle to her like last time, soothing her like one would some kind of spooked animal, and Annie was ashamed to admit how much it helped, the sound of a kind voice easing back the fear that had a grip on her throat. 

When the fear finally let go, when Annie was able to slump back against the pillows like she wasn’t afraid, you slowed down, easing out of the pattern of soft words long enough to give her a hopeful glance. 

“Feeling better? I’m really sorry I scared you.”

Annie was tempted to hiss back that you didn’t scare her, that she should be the one scaring _you_ , but managed to hold it back. She was in no position to be making threats, not when you still could decide whether or not she had a safe place to rest and heal. 

A sickeningly helpless feeling crawling into the pit of her stomach, Annie gave you a shaky look, trying to find her voice. 

Then you _move_ , one hand jerking towards Annie just fast enough that it snaps something fragile inside her. She _knows_ , she knows that you were just checking to see if she’d respond, but she’s scrabbling back and whining high and sharp all the same, one hand covering the back of her neck before she could stop herself. 

Panic burns hot and painful in her chest, breath cutting off under the way her mind insists that it’s pain pain _pain_ that’s coming next, and Annie curls up into herself as far as she can go. 

It felt helpless, it felt foolish, but she wanted to _hide_ , wanted to duck away and make it so you can’t sit there and look at her any more, can’t see how weak she really is. Annie is sick of being watched, of being helpless, the only thing she can do to protect herself covering the one point that makes her truly vulnerable. 

But all you do is sit there, not making any moves to get closer to her, just talking slow and even, gentle background noise that slowly starts to eat up all the fear Annie is feeling, melting away the panic in her mind. 

She hates to admit how badly she wants to lean into the sound. 

Annie stays pressed back against her pillows for a long few minutes, trying to calm her breathing and force herself to relax. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t try to hurt her, and it’s just the stupid part of her brain that expects that that’s making her behave so pathetically. 

When she finally calms down, you’re still there, sitting still and watching her with soft, pitying eyes. Annie fights the urge to flinch, and eases herself back into a normal sitting position, ignoring the pain that lances through her with every inch she moves. 

“S-Sorry,” she finally manages, voice low and trembling. “What did you want?” It’s rude, but the most she can say, too tired to formulate anything resembling a polite response. 

“I came to ask how you were feeling. Are your injuries healing at all?” you ask, as patient with her as she knows she doesn’t deserve. 

“Yes. They’re h-healing. I think I’m going to be sore for a while, but it’s not like I’m going to die. I feel. . . better than I did.” She tells the truth, somehow afraid of lying to you, too tired to do anything but say what’s in her head. 

“Okay, that’s good,” you say, still talking to her like she’s some kind of skittish, wild thing, voice still painfully gentle. “Do you want something to eat now? I mean, if you think it would help.”

Annie is suddenly, abruptly aware that she _is_ hungry, painfully so. Only now that you’ve mentioned it, her stomach feels like an open hole in her middle, her body obviously drained from forcing itself to heal.

If she eats, though, that would leave her with a debt to you. She’d be taking your food, wasting precious resources on a traitor to humanity, and once you figure out just what sort of person you’re allowing into your home, you’ll be even angrier with her for taking what was yours. 

But Annie is so hungry, body feeling painfully weak, and she knows that eating something will make her heal a little faster. And eventually, hesitantly, she nods. 

“Good, good. I thought you needed to eat something, but I wasn’t going to push it. Thank you for saying yes.” You smiled at her again, then, soft and open and kinder than anyone had been to Annie in years. 

Something in her chest stutter-twisted harsh and sharp and all at one, and Annie had to hold back a little gasp. No one made those kinds of expressions at her. She wasn’t the type of girl that people met with smiles and thanks for, for, just for agreeing to _eat_. It was ridiculous. It was foolish. And just that one bit of praise had something hot boiling thick in her ribcage. 

You got up after that, promising Annie that you’d be right back with something for her to eat. Annie sat back against the pillows and tried not to think too much while you were gone, afraid of where her mind would go if she allowed it the slightest bit of room to wander. 

A part of her was still expecting to be hurt, still expecting this kindness to end, but an even more dangerous part was starting to hope. 

When you came back, you were carrying a plate with a small bowl balanced on top of it. The delicious, salty-hot smell of food spread through the room in waves, and Annie’s stomach clenched achingly. 

You placed the plate carefully in her lap, murmuring a quick warning of the heat, and Annie looked down at the bowl with nothing short of shock. 

There was _meat_ in that bowl, piles of it mixed in with short noodles and a thick, red sauce. You’d given her actual meat, more of it than she’d seen in one meal since, since possibly _ever_ , like it was okay to feed the traitor to humanity better food than royalty would get. 

A high little noise slid out of Annie’s throat, something desperate and confused and trying to understand this bizarre kindness that she could never deserve. It hurt deep in her chest to even try. 

“Is something wrong? I can get you something different to eat if you want. Sorry, was this too hot?” You moved to take the food away, and Annie yelped, curling in over it before you could do anything to take it from her, desperate not to lose the meal in front of her. 

“N-No! It’s good! Please don’t take it away!” The words fell out of Annie’s mouth before she could stop them, pathetic in her desperation but too caught up in the scent of the food to care. 

“Okay, it’s all yours.” You stepped back immediately, raising your hands in a gesture of peace and sitting back down. “Please don’t eat too fast, though. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.”

Annie vaguely felt herself nodding as she picked up the silvery metal spoon that had also been on the plate, passively registering _that_ obvious sign of wealth as well. She was getting a sickening feeling that you were someone far above her in place, from all the expensive things she’d seen in this one room alone.

Eyeing the food frantically, Annie scooped up one huge, steaming spoonful, shoving it into her mouth before you could decide to take it away. 

Instantly, her tongue lit up with the taste of _salt_ , more in one bite than she’d ever tasted. The food was hot and rich, noodles chewy and meat practically melting in her mouth, the sauce thick and creamy with what tasted like some kind of cheese. It was easily the best thing Annie had ever eaten, and just from one bite, she could feel her stomach forcefully lurch, desperate to get more food in it before it could be yanked back. 

Annie was shoveling bites into her mouth before she could stop herself, eating almost too fast to taste the food. It was a waste, she knew, but she was so _hungry_ , just the feeling of food in her belly again was making it ache and twist in protest and demand. 

But before she could eat much, the bowl was pulled away. 

Yelping, Annie scrabbled after it, leaning forward as far as her aching muscles would allow. You were holding the bowl just beyond her reach, staring down at her with a face of concern. 

“You need to slow down a bit. I know you’re hungry, but you’re going to hurt yourself. If you haven’t eaten in a while, that will be too much too fast, okay? Can you slow down?”

Annie fought back a growl, wishing she was strong enough to take the food back by force. She wanted to see this as proof that you really were out to hurt her, but even as consumed by hunger as was, she knew you were just trying to help, showing more concern for her well being than anyone _back home_ ever had. 

“. . . Fine. I’ll slow down,” Annie said eventually, making a sour face at the sight of the cooling food mere inches away.

With that you passed the food back, Annie’s chest clenching tight at how easily she’d obeyed you. Her superior officers back in the military would have had a harder time getting her to do something, and yet she listened to you like it was easy to give in and do as you said. 

Thanks to the still hot bowl of food in her hands, though, Annie couldn’t find much will to care. 

Forcing herself to go slow, Annie kept eating, every bite tasting better than the last. There was a ridiculous amount of salt in just that bowl of food, and even though she was half wanting to ask where in the world you’d gotten in, why you were allowed to have access to so much, she kept her mouth shut. Questions like that were the kind of thing that could get her hit. 

The food vanished faster than Annie wanted it too, even at the slower pace. Before she knew it, she was scraping the sides of the bowl, licking up every bit of sauce she could get, desperate for every last taste of salt. 

Annie found herself looking down at the empty bowl, stomach still churning over what she’d eaten already, but desperate for more. Nothing she’d had before had ever tasted so _good_ , and she felt dangerously close to begging you for another bowl of whatever that had been. 

“Was it good?” you asked, taking the empty dish and smiling still. When Annie nodded, you said, “We’ll get you more later, okay? I don’t want you to eat too much at once and give yourself a stomach ache.”

Knowing she had no choice but to agree, Annie nodded again, choosing to stay quiet rather than risk what would come out if she opened her mouth. She honestly wanted to ask for more food, stomach still all twisted up from hunger, but if you said she couldn’t have it, then she had little choice but to go along with what you said. 

“Did you like the food?” you asked next. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, since we’re from such different places.”

Finally forcing herself to talk, Annie’s voice was low and tight. “Y-Yes. It was very good. Um, where did you get the salt? And so much meat?” Curiosity finally winning out, the questions were out before she could hold back. 

“Oh, I think that’s just how it came. I didn’t add any salt, and a lot of food is just like that. The meat is just what it came with. Was it too much for you?” You looked genuinely concerned, as if offering her two of the greatest luxuries in her her world was something to be worried about. 

“N-No!” Annie yelped, pathetic words slipping out at last. “Where I’m from, we don’t, d-don’t have those things. Meat is hard to come by. Salt is expensive. I d-didn’t think it was possible to just _get_ things like that.”

“Oh, well meat and salt are pretty common here. I have a little jar of salt in the kitchen that’s full of the stuff, if that give you any idea,” you said, and Annie had to keep her jaw from dropping. 

That was insane. No one save royalty could afford enough salt for every meal, let alone keep a _jar_ of it in their home. Something was very wrong here, completely different than where she was from, and Annie was realizing more with everything she learned just how different a place she’d wound up in, how strange the new world around her. 

Finally admitting defeat, Annie swallowed her pride and spoke, “I l-liked it. Please, um, I’d like more next time, please.” It felt pathetic, talking to you like you were above her, but the temptation of food was too strong. 

“Okay! I’ll remember that! You like meat and salty things. Anything else?” you asked, so kind it made heat churn in Annie’s chest. 

For a moment, Annie had to debate how honest to be. It would be easy to avoid telling you the truth, to keep her true feelings secret and make sure you didn’t know how to hurt her. Even admitting what kind of food she wanted would be giving away more of herself, and the part of Annie that had been trained for years to keep her distance from the world hissed and recoiled at the very thought of showing her true self. 

Eventually, though, the desire for more _wonderful_ food won out, and Annie muttered a quiet, “Um, s-sweets,” half praying you wouldn’t do something to hurt her for being too demanding. 

“Got it. I’ll bring you something sweet later, then. I’m pretty sure I have some snack cakes laying around,” you said, like it was no problem to accommodate the whims of a titan. 

Some part of Annie’s insides tightened up at the words, throat going closed at how nice to her you were being. It wasn’t fair. She should have been in some filthy holding cell, bloody and beaten and awaiting torture for her crimes, not curled up warm in someone else’s bed with a full stomach and the promise of sweets. You were being much too kind to her, and Annie barely knew what to do, how to handle the soft words and acts of compassion that were suddenly directed at her. 

It didn’t make sense, that you’d want to be so good to her. You didn’t know who she was or where she was from, you didn’t know what she’d done, all of the horrible things that she could never be forgiven for. 

And when you found out how many people she’d killed, the kinds of crimes she’d committed, all of this would end, Annie realized. You’d throw her out for her own people to find, take away all the kindness you’d offered her so far, and look at her with the same hateful eyes as the people she’d left behind. 

Somehow, that thought made Annie feel _sick_. 

It would be wiser, she realized, to stay under your care. Humiliating as it was to depend on someone, you seemed intent on taking care of her. If she laid low and avoided the rest of your world, maybe she’d never be found. If she could depend on your caretaking to keep her safe from the world, maybe that awful image of being locked away and cut up for information would never come to pass. 

Logically, it would be safer to stay somewhere safe and out of the way, and maybe, maybe it would be okay to let you do as you pleased, swallow the dark, guilty feeling rising in her throat and pretend like it was okay to accept your kindness for a while. 

The reality that she might be able to stay in a place with meat and soft beds and someone who wanted to _help_ her was slowly sinking in, and Annie was starting to feel sick. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of this, but she was so scared. She didn’t want to be taken away and hurt until she ran out of use, didn’t want to die cold and alone in a military prison. 

That was what would happen, Annie knew, if she ever went back. She was wanted, she’d been discovered, and ever trying to go home would end in being captured and hurt until she couldn’t do anything more that was useful to them. 

If she even made it home, she’d be nothing but a failure, the one of the group sent that got **caught** , and Annie knew there would be no warm welcome waiting for her. Even her father would have no use for a daughter that had failed, that very thought sending something cold and sick twisting in Annie’s stomach like churning tar. 

And worst of all, she still didn’t know where she was. The world she’d woken up into was a very different one than where she’d came from, that much Annie knew, and she didn’t have any idea just _how_ different it really was. She hadn’t even left this little room yet, and already her picture of the world had been torn apart. 

Panic rising in her chest once again, Annie fought the urge to curl up and hide. She had to think, had to get her plan for survival straightened out in her head before she needed to use it. 

The only thing that she could think of was sticking to you, the person that had given her a safe room and blankets and good food, but Annie hated herself more for every thought of dependence that entered her rattled head. She couldn’t possibly allow herself to rely on someone else for protection, not when she’d spent so many years being trained as a _warrior_ , and yet, and yet, Annie didn’t know _what to do_. 

She was ducking down again, pulling her limbs in close before she could stop herself, assuming the same pose of helpless terror that was becoming painfully familiar. World spinning around her, Annie’s breath came short, her vision blurring as she lost track of what was around her. 

Her nails were digging into her arms, scoring short half moons of blood in her panic, and Annie couldn’t _stop_. 

But once again, there was a warm hand on her back, hot even compared to the warmth her monstrous body put out, a soft voice murmuring gentle things in her ear. 

And Annie wanted to scream. 

She couldn’t take this. This kindness wasn’t meant for her. You didn’t know anything and you were offering this care to the last person in the world who deserved it, you’d take it all back as soon as you knew just who you were caring for. Annie couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of everything being yanked away when once again, someone learned the truth. 

Eventually, the panic wore her out again, exhaustion seeping into Annie’s limbs as she became too tired to sustain her fear. She slumped back against the pillows, slowly uncurling, trying desperately not to look at your face full of concern for her. 

Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself this for a little bit. Annie knew all too well that it wouldn’t be safe to trust you, to depend on you for real, but taking advantage of your kindness might be the only chance she had at making it out of this alive, the only way she’d be able to survive in the strange, new place she’d woken up to. 

You’d pulled back, sitting back in your chair and waiting for Annie to pull herself out of yet another panic attack, and a bolt of shame hit her hot and sharp through the chest. 

This was pathetic. She was pathetic. You’d been seeing every vulnerable side of her she had to offer, everything Annie would have fought tooth and nail to hide from anyone else. Already, you’d seen more weakness in her than the people she’d been sent on her mission with. 

But– But, she had to pretend. It was all part of her ruse, Annie tried to tell herself. She’d play weak to earn your favor, and it wouldn’t count as really being such a disgrace. It was helping her, making you think she needed your care, and all part of her plan in the first place. 

It was a flimsy excuse, but the best Annie could come up with to spare her fragile pride. She couldn’t take the reality of being so _vulnerable_. 

Once she’d calmed down, Annie said nothing. A part of her wanted to thank you for easing her through the fear, but a much larger part was ashamed enough already by how weak she’d been acting. 

“Better?” you said, breaking the silence at last, and Annie flinched, jerky and sharp, away from the tenderness in your voice.  
Annie nodded. 

“Good. Do you think you’d like to try to get cleaned up now? All that blood doesn’t look very comfortable.” 

True to your words, Annie was starting to feel rather gross. Her own dried blood was glued to her skin, matting her hair, crusty and thick, just a bit of fresh stickiness weighing her down. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, and, grateful as she was for the pain of her injuries easing with every passing moment, slowly to a dull ache deep in her bones, she hadn’t paid much attention to the blood coating her still. 

“I guess,” was all Annie said, unwilling to give away any more weakness after everything she’d done already. 

“Okay. There’s a bathroom right down the hall. Do you need any help?” Annie wanted to growl at the question, but she knew she actually _would_ need some aid to walk. She didn’t hurt nearly as badly as she had when she woke up, but there was a fuzzy weakness in her limbs characteristic of fresh healing. 

“Yes, I think so.” Annie tried to make it as sharp and curt as she could, not wanting to look any more pathetic than she already had to. 

Slipping one arm under hers, you helped Annie ease herself to her feet. Annie fought back a gasp at the lance of pain that shot through her at the movement, the way her legs burned as soon as weight was put on them. She was tough. She could take more than this. 

It took leaning most of her weight on you to be able to move, easing herself slowly from foot to foot as the two of you crossed the room and stepped out into the hall. Annie bit her lip and pretended like nothing hurt, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain shooting through her with every little move. 

It was a quick walk down the hallway, passing just one door as Annie’s eyes fluttered half closed. She still wasn’t really paying attention to what was around her, too tired and pained to bother tracking her surroundings, and it was only when she stepped into the bathroom that she started to attention. 

_None_ of this looked familiar, everything the wrong shape and form that she could see. Of course, even something as simple as a bathroom would be messed up where she was. 

“I don’t– I don’t know what any of this does,” Annie admitted, choking over the words. Her body was aching worse and worse as she stood, and it was a painful relief when you eased her down to sit by the edge of a white, slick tub in the wall. 

“Is it okay if I help you?” you asked, still sickeningly gentle and polite. Annie nodded bitterly, trying not to make a face. “Okay. Do you need help getting all that off?” 

Annie realized belatedly that she was still wearing her uniform, maneuver gear strapped on around her in criss-crosses of leather. There was no way she’d be able to twist around far enough to unbuckle it all without making _everything_ hurt, and Annie reluctantly nodded again, trying not to think of how pathetic she must look. 

Slowly, piece by piece, Annie walked you through stripping off the gear, ignoring the pang of _something_ as she realized that this would probably be the last time she wore it. You helped her bend far enough to ease off her shirt as well, and Annie didn’t miss your miserable look when you saw the bruises spattering her torso, dark purple and black in splotches of broken skin. It didn’t bother her. She was used to this much pain. 

You politely turned away when Annie slid off her pants and chest bindings, leaving her underclothes on in a pointless bit of modestly, you explaining that she’d sit in the white thing when she was done. Apparently, it was some kind of bathtub, even if the look was all wrong, and Annie wanted to scoff at how badly your people had messed everything up. 

Flicking a little silver switch near the bottom of the tub, you explained that the handle above it would control the water, twisted part way for cold and all the way for hot. Annie tried her best to keep up, still terribly confused on what any of this meant, but then, you turned the handle. 

_Hot_ water poured out from the little spout, splashing against the bottom of the tub and spattering Annie’s bruised legs with warmth. Eyes widening, Annie tried to take in what was happening, how it could be possible for the water to already be warm. You hadn’t heated it in any way, just turned a switch, and, and, a-and– 

She was going to get a hot bath, Annie realized. Not a lukewarm shower in a filthy building shared with countless other trainees. It was almost unreal, the scene in front of her, and Annie swallowed heavily at the thought of receiving yet another wasted luxury. 

The water filled slowly, lapping at Annie’s aching legs, spreading warmth up through her as it went. The level rose up over her ankles, over the sides of her legs, and up to her waist, eventually stopping just below her chest as you turned the handle back to its starting position. 

Annie was _warm_ all the way through her, heat filling her up from the pit of her stomach up through her throat, warmth from the water seeping through her battered body like sunshine. It felt good, amazingly so, and Annie fought back some embarrassing little noise. This, like the salt, was probably something normal for you, and she didn’t want to look any more pathetic by overreacting to this too. 

“Do you need help with the soap?” you asked, passing a bottle of pink liquid to her, and Annie shook her head. You turned away again after that, leaving Annie surrounded in heat. 

Squirting the liquid out into her palm, Annie realized that it smelled like something sweet and flowery, nothing like the harsh chemicals she was used to. Scrubbing at the blood, Annie tried to ignore how her skin stung and ached, bruises sending little shocks of pain up through her with every little touch. 

Fortunately, most of her deeper wounds had healed over, the cuts and gashes and places crushed in sealing up into fresh, pink scars. Nothing had been too seriously damaged, not beyond what she could heal from, and Annie took the chance to take note of every broken part of herself. She was healing, if slowly, and nothing hurt nearly as bad as it had when she first woke up, pain easing away as her body did its job. 

When she tried to reach up to wash the blood out of her hair, though, something in her back tightened and sent agony racing through her. 

Annie yelped, unconsciously, and you whirled around, immediately asking what was wrong. Flushing, Annie explained that she’d stretched too far, couldn’t quite reach her hair, and then, in a much softer tone, asked if you could help with this part. 

Oh, she hated admitting that needed the help, but every part of her head felt gross and sticky, hair matted down with blood loosened in the steam of the hot water. It was disgusting, even if she was used to it, and, and, th-this just had to be part of her plan. Annie had decided that she’d pretend to be dependent on you, and this would have to be the first step. 

“Of course. Here, turn around.” You smiled and grabbed a different bottle, as Annie turned away, letting you face her back. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she hid her face, feeling suddenly much too small. 

As your hands buried in her hair, kneading gently at the mass of blood weighing it down, Annie shuddered. It felt as good, possibly better than your warm hands on her back when she’d been panicking. Feeling weak, Annie hid her face, realizing much too late that the motion bared the back of her neck to you fully, exposing her weak point to the open air. 

Annie went tense at that, breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t been paying attention, too concerned with the hot water and getting the blood off herself, but now, now your hands were mere inches away from the spot that could kill her. 

Oh, oh she wasn’t ready for this. Her heart was beating at her ribcage, pounding hard and fast in the worst moment of terror she’d had yet. 

Your fingers were combing through her hair, dislodging blood and gore as you went, and Annie shuddered under the feeling. This was the most intimate anyone had been with her in longer than she could remember, more care than she’d received since she’d been too young to do things for herself. Her chest felt tight and strange, heating up with some unknown feeling, and Annie struggled to find a way to react. 

Just when she was starting to think that she’d be safe, that you’d leave that one place alone, your wrist brushed against the base of her neck, twisted at an angle as your scrubbed at a stubborn knot. 

Annie bit her lip until she tasted blood, holding back a whining gasp at the bolt of sensation that shot through her. That place hadn’t been touched by anyone else in as long as she could remember, and in the midst of her aching body, the pleasure of soft skin and tightly packed nerves being brushed against by a gentle hand was enough to make her whole body go weak and soft, limp under your hands. 

It was too much, shameful vulnerability making her want to get away and hide and never have to _face this again_. 

But Annie stayed quiet, desperately fighting not to give away what you’d done to her, and eventually, the hot tingling, the weakness in her limbs started to fade. 

After her hair was as clean as you could get it, you stood back up, telling Annie that you were going to get something to for her to wear.  
Annie glanced at her pile of bloodied clothes and silently agreed. There were far too many memories in that uniform, things that she’d much rather not think about any more. 

So she sat in the still warm water, knees pulled to her chest, clean hair falling in her face and dribbling water into her eyes. It was peaceful, oddly so, save for the residual spike of panic from you getting so close to the one place she’d been trained to never let another near, and Annie spent a quiet few minutes calming herself down, able to relax a bit now that she was alone.

You came back soon enough, helping Annie to her feat and wrapping a ridiculously soft towel around her. Annie dried herself off, trying not to think about how _good_ it felt to be clean. 

The clothes you gave her was some kind of oversized shirt, made of a plain, pink material that was even softer on her skin than the blankets. Annie pulled it over her head faster than she’d ever admit to, silently savoring the feeling of softness and warmth wrapped around her bruised body. 

“Does it fit? I wasn’t sure if it would be small enough for you. . .” you said, trailing off a bit and silently examining how the shirt hung around Annie’s tiny frame. 

“It’s fine,” was all Annie said, fighting back the urge to thank you for giving her something so soft. 

After that brief exchange, you helped Annie back to what she was starting to acknowledge as her room, easing her back into bed with gentleness that Annie didn’t want to think about. Her legs practically collapsed under her as soon as she was close enough to the bed, and Annie ignored the hot pang of shame at her own weakness that surged through her. 

She was healing. She would be strong again. 

Her eyes were already fluttering with sleep when you turned to leave, whispering a quiet “sleep well” that Annie only barely made out. She was still so tired, and it was easy to slip back into the heavy, dreamless sort of sleep she’d had ever since waking up in your world. 

Relaxing back into the blankets, Annie only faintly registered you leaving the room, closing the door softly behind you.


	3. There’s a room inside your gut, close the door and keep it shut. Let no daylight enter in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick chapter! Hooray! :D This one starts out nice for Annie, but. . . doesn't go so well towards the end. I'm sort of basing Annie's thoughts and reactions to things on my own experience with PTSD, and I think it'll be interesting to see what people think of how I've written her!
> 
> Honestly, I'm not fond of how the kids are handled in canon. They're a _lot_ more messed up than the author seems to give them credit for, and making a 16 year old girl who knows she's responsible for mass casulties be completely cold and unreachable feels a little off to me. I'm interpreting Annie as being a lot more broken than canon seems to recognize, and Reader's actions here kind of tip her towards a breaking point. 
> 
> Well, I'm finally getting somewhere plot wise, and hopefully in a few more chapters I'll be able to work in Reiner and Bertoldt! :D

When Annie woke again, it was to bright light filtering in through the window. She felt half way well, the food in her stomach speeding up the healing process, and she was soon able to sit up on her own without any major aches shooting through her. 

Grimacing at the bloodstained sheets behind her, Annie looked around the room restlessly, hoping you hadn’t come to check on her again while she was out. The idea of being _watched_ while she was helpless still made her stomach churn, instinctive revulsion at being seen in such a weak state. She’d had it trained into her from a young age to always be strong, and even you seeing her unguarded was enough to make her feel ill. 

And then Annie registered what she’d just thought. 

True, you’d been nicer to her than she could remember anyone being in all her sixteen years of life, but that was no excuse for thinking you were any different. If you had any idea what she’d done, what she was responsible for, you’d hate her just like anyone else. 

She couldn’t trust you, she couldn’t dare. Even if her survival now depended on pretending like she needed your care, she could never let herself believe you’d do anything but throw her away. 

If you knew, if you ever found out just what kind of things she’d done, you’d throw her out in a second. She was a coward, a pawn, no more important to her people than a weapon. She’d been thrown away as one of the strong, sent to her death on a mission more suicide than planned success. Tossed out because she was strong enough to make it on her own. 

And all along, she’d accepted it. Annie had been too weak to ever do anything but what she was told, and now she was paying the price. 

Thousands of people were dead because of what she’d done. No one in the world would ever accept her again. She was a traitor to humanity, the one of her little group of warriors that had been found out, and now she had absolutely no place left to go. 

Except, now, she was somewhere she didn’t even know, somewhere where the people didn’t know about titans or walls or warriors, and maybe, maybe– 

Annie cut off that line of thinking as quickly as she could. There was no room for hope, not for her, and it would be dangerous to let herself think she had a chance. You were kind because you didn’t know her, compassionate to a random person in need. She’d never be safe, not while the threat of being _found out_ all over again still hung over her head. 

All she could do was use you, take advantage of the one mostly safe place she’d found, and hope no one she knew ever tracked her down. 

Guilt was clawing thick and sticky up Annie’s throat, memories of refugees and broken, crying children and people caked in blood and mud and debris running through her head. 

(She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about it. _She didn’t want to think about it_.)

Annie felt vaguely like she was going to throw up. Memories of a time years ago were filling her head, clogging up her mind with screams and cries and the agony that she knew was every bit her fault. Choking, Annie curled up, unable to hold herself up under the amount of regret filling her small body. She couldn’t take much more, feeling like she was close to bursting at whatever seams were holding her together. 

It was like this every time _those_ memories came back, the ones fresh from the fall of the wall, back when Annie was still small and sort of innocent and not aware of the damage she was fated to do. 

The weeks right after had been the worse, the three of them howling along with every other child who’d lost a family or home or place to belong because of _them_. No one had paid them any mind, back then. Broken children were far from an uncommon sight, and it had been painfully easy to slip into the walls along with the people the were meant to destroy. 

Annie remembered what it felt like to be full of so much guilt that it felt like she couldn’t possibly hold it all, that it would spill up out of her throat like something black and poisonous as soon as she opened her mouth. Annie remembered what it felt like to know that everyone around her was hurting only because of _her_. 

(And she remembered what it felt like to shut off every part of her that could ever let those feelings make her weak.)

Everything still felt so fresh in her mind, the memories of every sight and sound and smell and feel of what it had been like. The longer she thought about it, the more vivid everything became, and before she knew it, Annie was spiraling into the memories that felt like she was still there. 

Digging her nails into her thigh just to feel something other than the guilt, Annie swallowed heavily, feeling like there was bile rising to escape. She felt full of something dark and thick and sickly, something that was going to eat her up from the inside and leave nothing but a shell, a sick, awful feeling that she’d never be able to make up for everything she’d done grasping her insides in a vice. 

Annie wasn’t supposed to feel guilt. She was supposed to be happy that she’d destroyed the people her home and people and father had sent her to wipe out. But when the faces of people who’d lost everything, people who’d done nothing but howl in the kind of agony Annie couldn’t begin to imagine started to fill her head, it was hard not to. 

But Annie sat still. Annie choked down her guilt. Annie swallowed and swallowed and scratched at her thigh until lines of fresh blood started to open on the skin. Annie kept breathing, not allowing the guilt to get its hold on her lungs and force her into its grip. 

What finally tore Annie out of the panic she’d worked herself into was the brush of her callused hand against the ridiculously soft fabric of the shirt you’d given her. It was soft, worn down to a perfect comforting smoothness, and it felt _real_. That one little touch snapped Annie out of her memories like she’d been slapped, jolting back into herself all at once. 

Annie found herself staring down at the soft, pink fabric, one hand entangled in the loose cloth above her legs.  
It was soft. It was safe. It was real. 

Running her fingers over the hem of the shirt, Annie managed a deep, heaving breath. She was starting to feel more real, less like she was back at the disaster she’d caused, and it was easier to focus on the world around her with the pleasant feeling of worn cloth under her fingertips. 

Eventually, Annie allowed herself to lie back down, still gripping the hem of the shirt as she curled back into the blankets. They were bloodstained, nothing she couldn’t stand, but Annie felt another small pang of guilt at how she’d _ruined_ something so good, something that belonged to you that she’d soiled with her presence alone. 

Annie ducked her head, closing her eyes, and inhaled a scent unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Clean and oddly comforting, the shirt she was wearing smelled of something Annie couldn’t place. 

Laying there, surrounded by soft things and a softer smell, Annie felt oddly at peace. Considering she’d been on the verge of panic mere moments ago, it was strange, but it seemed like she was almost safe, like nothing and no one could intrude on this little world of her bed. 

She’d been feeling small, weak since she’d woken up bruised and battered in a strange world, but for the first time, it didn’t seem all too bad. For once, Annie felt like she could hide, get away from her past and stay here small and curled up forever, where no one who wanted her dead would ever have to know. It was pathetic, childish, to even want such a thing, but for just a moment, Annie blocked out the lingering pain of her broken body and allowed herself to hope. 

When you stepped into the room, the peaceful moment shattered like glass. Annie was bolting upright and whirling her head to face you on pure instinct, immediately forgetting the comfort she’d felt.

“Good morning,” you smiled, blissfully unaware of what you’d almost seen. 

Annie looked down and tried to calm her breathing, tried not to acknowledge how you’d managed to startle her. 

“Are you feeling alright? How are your wounds doing?” you asked, sitting down in the same place Annie was getting so used to seeing you. 

“Fine. They’re. . . healing. Slowly.” Annie felt almost bad for being blunt when you _smiled_ at her like that, but pushed the thoughts out of her head. She’d never cared about anyone else’s feelings before. 

“Good, good. Do you remember what I told you I’d get for you today?” You were making a face like it was something good, but Annie couldn’t for the life of her remember what she was supposed to be excited for. 

Her memory had been slipping, lately, not quite tracking things properly from moment to moment. She’d hoped it had something to do with whatever head injury she’d sustained, but it wasn’t yet going away. Worrying, perhaps, but nothing that would kill her. 

(And so Annie had been trained not to make a fuss, not to make a big deal out of what wouldn’t cease to make her _useful_.)

Annie didn’t voice any of that, shaking her head in a simple answer. 

“Sweets!” you chirped, lifting up a clear bag of colored little discs that Annie’s mind belatedly recognized as candy. “I told you I’d bring you something yesterday, and after you eat something, you can have these.”

Annie eyed the bag with suspicion, staring at the bright little pieces with hesitant curiosity. Sugar was a rare treat, but what would you demand in return? Could she really risk accepting something that would offer no benefit to her healing, that would only indebt her to you further?

Before she could stop you, you were taking Annie’s hand with your own, the heat of your fingers seeping into hers as you opened her hand and slid two of the candies inside. 

Annie forced herself not to think about how she didn’t fight you or pull away, how she opened her hand willingly for your fingers on hers. 

“Here, eat some,” you encouraged, “Only a couple for now, but I’ll give you more after we get some more real food in you.” You looked happy, smiling widely and meeting her eyes with you bright ones. 

It made Annie want to look away, like you were too bright to stare directly at. Seeing so much happiness so close made Annie’s chest clench with something jealous and cold that she had to force back down. 

Instead of saying anything, she compliantly popped the candies into her mouth, realizing too late that she hadn’t even considered the possibility that you’d try to poison or drug her, hadn’t even _thought_ about what might happen if you did, as she’d taken food from you with no hesitation. 

Just as Annie was about to panic, to spit the candy out and pray she’d be safe, the outer shell melted away in the unnatural heat of her mouth, and the sweetest, richest thing Annie had ever tasted flooded her tongue. 

Annie’s hand flew to her mouth, a high little gasp escaping her as the flavor spread. It was like nothing she’d ever tasted before, richer than pure sugar but sweeter than any plain dessert she’d ever had.

When Annie whirled around to look at you, half ready to demand an answer as to _what_ you’d given her, you were smiling, a delighted look etched across your face like you’d been expecting her to react that way. You looked happy, like you were pleased with her response. 

“Is it good?” you asked. “I had a feeling you’d like those.”

“What did you give me?” Annie snapped back, glaring viciously in an attempt to preserve what little dignity she had left. 

“Chocolate. That’s what the stuff inside is. You said you liked sweets, and pretty much everyone I know loves chocolate, so I thought it would be a good thing to bring you. Was it okay?”

Annie struggled for a moment to find a response. She didn’t want to look any more pathetic than she already had, overreacting to food you saw as common, but you also still had a whole _bag_ of the chocolate next to you, and you’d said you’d be willing to give them to her. Being rude to you would probably just get the food taken away, and Annie, mouth still filled with the taste of _sweet_ , wasn’t sure it would be worth keeping her pride to resist. 

“. . . yes. They were good,” she said eventually, trying desperately to keep her voice even and cold. 

Swallowing heavily, Annie fought the part of her that insisted she leave it there, not disgrace herself any further by begging for sweets. She wanted more. Those chocolates had tasted better than any treat she’d gotten back home, and it would be so easy just to ask for more. 

“C-Can I have more?” The words choked out thick and sticking to her throat, Annie felt part of her dignity shattering as she asked. 

The part of her that wanted more food had finally won out, and even though it felt like admitting defeat, Annie had a sick little feeling that it would be worth it. It was– It was all part of pretending like she needed you, Annie told herself, all part of keeping up her ruse. 

“Sure,” you said, so _easy_ it made Annie stomach clench sick and tight with how much she’d sacrificed to ask. “I’ll give you another handful for now, and you can have more after you eat something, okay?”

Annie nodded, feeling pathetic. She’d had to swallow so much pride just to ask for more, and you were acting like it was nothing. 

(You were giving precious sweets to the Female Titan, one of the culprits in wiping out so much of humanity. You didn’t know. You didn’t know. If you ever found out you’d _take it all away_.)

There was soon a small pile of the sweets in her hand, pink and red and white shells glistening in the light. Annie forced herself to go slow, to only slide one into her mouth at a time, all for fear of you trying to take them away again like you had the bowl of food before. 

It was humiliating, but she’d learned her lesson the first time. 

“I’m gonna go get you something to eat! Be right back.” You sounded happy, smiling at Annie like she’d done something good. It felt strange, to be the subject of even such indirect praise, and Annie found herself not knowing quite what to do, quite how to react. 

In the few minutes while you’d be gone from the room, Annie was left alone again with her thoughts. 

Taking note of her body, every little ache that could affect her ability to keep herself safe, Annie looked down at her arms, examining the pink-red scars dotting the flesh in thick lines, blotches of tender, healing skin. 

Her legs were just as bad, but the purpling bruises of the night before had started to fade into yellow, sickly marks. She was healing, Annie knew, little by little her body knitting itself back together. She didn’t hurt anywhere near as badly as she had the couple days before, and an experimental stretch proved that she could move without muscles catching in pain. 

Her hands in her lap looked like they belonged to a different person, Annie thought. She barely recognized the bruises, the split knuckles scabbing over, the bitten short nails and thick calluses along her fingers seeming as if they belonged to someone else. 

You stepped back into the room, and Annie didn’t flinch. She was starting to feel distant, drifting, as if she wasn’t quite connected to herself, and it didn’t register that she was supposed to be on alert. 

“Hope you don’t mind that it’s the same thing as yesterday,” you said, sitting back down and passing her another plate and bowl. “You liked it then, so I figured it’d be better to go with something safe.”

Annie eyed the food for a moment, the tendrils of steam rising up from a second pile of noodles and meat. She was hungry, but everything felt far away, like if she reached out and took a bite the food wouldn’t be there. There was a strange, heavy feeling pressing down on her, something fogging up her brain like there was no room for Annie left, and she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but slowly lift the spoon. 

The first bite was hot and salty, but Annie barely tasted it. She felt distant, far away, disconnected from herself. 

Eating slowly, one bite after another, chewing and tasting every time, Annie ate. The sensations seemed like they were happening to someone else, like she was just a spectator watching another girl eat, but Annie was on autopilot. It was easy to just slip into the motions of doing something so simple, and Annie found herself glad that, for once, she didn’t have to think. 

Before long, the food was gone, and Annie was left staring down at the empty bowl, the smears of red sauce that faintly reminded her of spattered blood. 

You took the bowl away, placing it on a little table to the side, and poured out a small pile of the chocolates onto the plate that remained, smiling widely like Annie had done something good. 

“Here you go. I don’t think it would sit well with your stomach to give you too many, but I did promise you could have something sweet.” Your voice was gentle, easy, and Annie found herself clinging to the sound, easy words the one thing she could clearly focus on. 

“Now,” you continued, “I think we need to talk. Would you be okay with telling me where you’re from? I caught some stuff yesterday about titans and walls and something like that, but I’m still really confused. If it’s not too much for you, could you please explain what happened?”

All at once, Annie’s blood ran cold, her body snapping back to reality like she’d hit a wall. 

She fell back into her body with a jolt, reality sliding back into place so fast it made her almost dizzy, a sick feeling welling in the pit of her stomach, terror clawing sharp and hard through her gut. 

Of all the things you could have asked, of all the the things you could have wanted to know, you had to remember _those_. This was it, Annie thought, panic surging through her veins. If she told the truth, you’d hurt her, throw her out, leave her for her people to find and take back and tear apart until there was nothing left. 

“I– I–” Annie felt like she was choking, dread cold and heavy in her throat, clogging up any words she could have possibly used to defend herself from your curious gaze. 

“Easy, easy. It’s okay. Take your time; I don’t mind waiting. I just want to have some idea what happened, okay?” Your voice was soft, coddling, like Annie was some skittish thing that needed to be handled with care. It was the last way anyone should be speaking to her, much too kind for a monster like her to ever deserve. 

Annie fought down the rising panic, choking down her own fear. She had to say something. She had to talk. If she denied you, you’d get suspicious. If she told the truth, you’d be done with her for good. If she lied, you could so easily find her out. 

Swallowing heavily, trying to ignore the way her whole body was telling her she had to _hide_ , Annie tried to force herself to speak. 

“Here, let’s make it easy,” you said, painfully gentle. “Where are you from? You don’t have to tell me all the details, just a simple answer.”

“It’s called. . . Marley,” Annie said, choking up the words like something dark and thick and crawling up her throat. “But I lived in another place for the past four years. Marley isn’t, i-isn’t my home anymore.”

“Okay, good. Thank you for telling me. Can you tell me why you were hurt now, please?” You were being so soft, so kind, it made Annie feel all the sicker. This wasn’t right. She should be in a cell somewhere, bloody and aching, tortured for this information instead of having it gently coaxed out of her by someone who was so painfully ignorant. 

“They wanted me dead,” Annie managed, feeling sicker by the second, fists clenching in her lap until her nails drew blood from the skin of her hands. 

“Can I ask why?” you asked, so softly it burned. 

Annie’s teeth sunk into her lip, the taste of metal springing to her mouth. She couldn’t say this. She couldn’t tell you. But if she didn’t do as you said you’d throw her out for sure and– and– 

“No. I can’t– I won’t– I _can’t say that_ ,” Annie hissed, feeling wild and drawn tight, like the next thing you asked could break her in two. 

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell me. It’s alright, I promise I’m not mad,” you soothed, as if you could see how panicked Annie was starting to feel, as if you could see every line of tension running through her. “You mentioned titans earlier. Will you tell me what those are?”

“Titans are monsters. They’re bigger than people, as big as buildings, and the only thing they eat is humans.” Yes. Leaving out the part about how she was one of such monsters. 

“Okay. I believe you. I’m guessing the walls you mentioned have something to do with the titans?” Annie flinched at the very mention of the walls, her mission flooding back to her and how she’d _failed_. 

“Y-Yes. They keep the titans out, so humanity can live safely.” Don’t say any more than that. Don’t say how Annie herself was at fault for so many people losing that precious safety. Don’t say how many thousands of people are dead because of her. 

“Mmhm. So, and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, how do you fit into all of this? How did you get so hurt?” You looked concerned, eyes so soft it made Annie want to hide, and the guilt was something live and writhing inside of her. 

“I was,” Annie started, choosing her words carefully. “I was part of the military that fights the titans. For the past four years, I’ve been part of it. Th-they turned on me. I did something the military didn’t like, and they want me dead for it.” True, but twisted. Making it sound like she wasn’t the monster who was to blame for it all. 

Annie was trying desperately to keep her voice cold, to hold up the facade she’d clung to for years. She felt so _weak_ , so small, as if she could fall apart just by telling you the truth. It was supposed to be easy to use you, to take advantage of your kindness, but when you looked at her with those gentle eyes, Annie wanted to scream. 

She couldn’t take this. You were being nothing but kind to her, treated her with more gentleness and undisguised care than even her father had, and Annie felt like tearing herself apart to get away. 

You were looking at her with something softer than pity, staring at her with gentle eyes even as she admitted to being wanted for dead, and Annie felt something cold and vicious claw at her stomach, trying to pull itself out from the inside. She was so disgusting, lying to a person who’d done nothing but take her in and offer their kindness. 

“Well that’s not fair at all. How old are you? Not any more than sixteen, right?” you said, voice going cold. 

Annie nodded muttering a quiet “sixteen” and trying not to choke. 

Biting back a curse, your brows furrowed, face twisting into something almost angry. Annie wanted to fall forward and apologize, beg you not to be angry with her for everything she’d done. 

Annie stayed right where she was, and didn’t say a thing. 

“Okay, so you’re from a world where there are big monsters that eat people. There are walls to keep them out, and the military is designed around fighting them. You were a part of that military for four years, but you did something they didn’t like, and they tried to kill you. Do I have all of that straight?” you asked, making a face like you’d swallowed something bitter. 

Nodding again, Annie bit her lip until she tasted blood. The guilt felt like it was eating her up from the inside, worse than it ever had when she’d tricked the people on her mission, worse than when she’d seen the betrayal on their faces as they all learned the truth. 

Those moments would be etched in Annie’s mind until the day she died, she thought, the memories of what it had looked like when the people she’d spent four years growing unwillingly close to realized that she was responsible for all the bad in their lives. The betrayal, the hatred, Annie had never imagined what it would feel like to be so despised. 

(And she’d never imagined how relieved she’d feel that they all finally knew the truth.)

Instead of demanding to know more, instead of yelling at her and telling her it was all her fault for failing, you leaned forward.  
One gentle hand brushed across Annie’s back, rubbing a long line from her shoulder blades to the crook of her spine, so gentle and warm it forced a sharp, quiet little sob from Annie’s throat. 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” you said, quiet and kind. “I’m sorry you had to get hurt like that. I won’t press for anything you don’t want to tell me, okay? You can take your time and explain whenever you’re ready. I promise I’ll give you somewhere safe to stay until you’re ready to leave. They won’t find you here.”

With those words, something inside Annie’s chest shattered like bone. 

She was crying before she could stop herself, huge, hot tears dripping out of her eyes and falling messy and wet down to her chest. Wracking sobs tore at Annie’s throat, shaking her like a leaf in a storm. 

Sobs rising to desperate howls, Annie curled in on herself tight and small. She couldn’t look at you. She couldn’t take this any longer. You had absolutely no right to be offering to protect the Female Titan, no right to be so forgiving, so soft when all Annie had done was kill. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” You were right there, murmuring soft things in her ear, hand still rubbing burning lines over Annie’s skin, and your presence made her cry all the more. It wasn’t _fair_. You didn’t know who she was. You didn’t know anything, and you were still treating her like she deserved your kindness. 

Swatting your hand away, Annie clenched her teeth so hard blood began to run down her lip. 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to hurt something. She wanted to shove everything away and get away and never have to look back. The guilt was eating her up from the inside out, and Annie couldn’t take any more. 

You were still looking at her with that horrible, horrible softness, meeting Annie’s eyes like it was nothing to stare down one of the greatest murderers mankind had ever known, like you weren’t looking at a warrior but a broken little girl, and Annie couldn’t stand it. This pity, this kindness couldn’t possibly be meant for her. You would never look at her so gently if you knew everything that she’d done. 

Anger rising in her like it did when she was in her Warrior, Annie finally broke. 

“I killed them!” she screeched, unable to meet your eyes for a moment longer. “It was my fault! I was sent to kill them all and I obeyed! Quit _looking_ at me like you think I’m innocent!” Annie felt wild, furious, terrified and cold to the core all at once. With blood running down her chin, she howled everything she’d held back for years. 

“It was all my _**fault**_ ,” she spit, “I deserved to die, and they only tried to get rid of the monster that was responsible for the death of thousands!” Annie hissed, growling deep and feral in her chest. 

Once it was all out, Annie went cold. She’d admitted everything. She’d told you the _truth_. She’d spilled out everything that she’d been hiding for the past four years, all to someone who could throw her out and leave her to die. Terror shot through Annie like a bullet, running ice through her veins as soon as all of what she’d said sunk in. 

She’d already failed her mission, already been discovered as the traitor she was. Now she was failing again, admitting everything to yet another person who would want her dead like everyone should. She’d ruined it all all over again and, and– 

Hesitantly, with fear shuddering through her so fiercely her teeth chattered, Annie raised her head to meet your eyes.


	4. Your heart's a vine that I've bled trying to climb. Yeah, you're making a ruin of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't believe that I've managed to write this much, this fast. This is like the fifth day in a row that I've written over 5000 words in one day. I'm really glad that the story is starting to come together, though, and that Annie's finally going to be out of the worst of her issues with reader soon! o3o Things are going to start getting better for her, I promise!
> 
> Oh, and before long, Reiner and Bertoldt are going to be showing up too! Does anyone have any opinions on who they want to appear first? I'm honestly working this out as I go, so I'm totally open to any suggestions~
> 
> As always, comments fuel me, so please leave one if you liked the fic! :D I'll update faster if I know people are looking forward to what I write.

When Annie’s eyes met yours, she was expecting utter rejection, the same kind of hatred she’d seen in the eyes of people she’d spent years with. 

You had every right to hate her, now that you knew the truth. She’d told you every awful thing, the worst of what she could possibly say about herself. You’d be right to hate her, and Annie found herself bracing for the same look of pure contempt she’d experienced once before. 

Instead, all she found was the same soft, even compassion, not a trace of anger or hate, even after hearing the worst things she’d ever been able to admit. 

“Did you hear me?” Annie hissed. “I’m a _murderer_.” 

Oh, why couldn’t she stop? Annie didn’t want to be thrown out, didn’t want to be hated by the one person who’s been kind to her from the very beginning, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. It was like all the rage and guilt she’d been holding in for years was finally spilling out all at once, a torrent of blame and self hatred that she could do nothing to hold back. 

“I heard you,” you said, seemingly measuring your words. 

“Then why aren’t you _angry_? Don’t you realize you’ve been taking care of a traitor? Don’t you realize what I’ve done?” Annie was starting to feel frantic, now that she wasn’t getting the response she’d expected, terror of the unknown clawing sharp and wild at her chest. 

Her hands were shaking, Annie realized, tense and trembling at her sides, blood dripping down from where she’d dug her nails in too tight. 

“You’re a child. Whatever you did, children don’t make those kinds of choices for themselves. Like you said, you did what someone else told you to. I can’t blame a child for doing what they’re forced to,” you said, as if it could really be that easy. 

Annie _howled_ again, lurching forward and curling in. It didn’t make sense. How could you act like she hadn’t done anything wrong? It was her fault, it was all her fault, and here you were spouting some nonsense about how a child couldn’t be blamed. It made Annie want to scream, and she did, voice tearing at her throat like knives. 

“ _ **Stop it**_ ,” she growled, voice low and dangerous in a way that would have scared off countless others. “You can’t pretend like I’m not to blame for what I did! It doesn’t matter how old I was! I _killed_ people. I’m a _monster_. Quit acting like you really think I’m anything else. We both know I can’t be forgiven that easily.”

(Oh, she wanted to be. If the guilt eating her up would finally stop, Annie would do anything, _anything_ so she wouldn’t have to live with the pain any longer, so she wouldn’t always feel one step from being revealed.)

You leaned forward, reaching out your hand, and Annie flinched back on instinct. So this was where it started. You were going to hurt her now, throw her out and never look back and, and– 

Your hand touched Annie’s cheek, painfully tender. 

“I forgive you,” you said, looking her straight the eye, meeting Annie’s wild gaze with your own. “Whatever you did, I forgive you.”

Annie’s eyes went hot as her blood ran cold. This couldn’t be _happening_. It couldn’t be possible for someone to say that. She’d told you, she’d told you what she did, confessed to having so many deaths on her hands, and you could still look at her with those soft, soft eyes. It felt like Annie’s world was crashing down around her. 

“No!” she howled, “No no no _no no **no**_! You’re supposed to hate me! You’re supposed to want me dead! You’re not supposed to sit here and tell me you _forgive_ me! Stop it! Stop lying to me! You don’t _mean_ it!”

Annie felt frantic, heart beating hard and fast in her chest. No one could possibly react like that. No one could possibly look at a murderer with eyes so tender and kind. 

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I forgive you, and you’re always going to be welcome here. I promise I’m telling the truth."

Your thumb brushed Annie’s cheek, a whisper of a touch that sent shockwaves through her. 

And Annie _broke_.

The tears spilled out of her eyes all over again, pouring hot down Annie’s face. 

She faintly heard a noise like some kind of dying animal, wild and pained, and belatedly realized it was _her_ that was making it. 

Shoving you away, Annie curled in on herself tight and small, screaming into her tucked up knees and shaking with sobs. Everything _hurt_ , worse than almost dying had, pain wracking through her like a storm. Annie ached from the inside out, her chest a point of burning agony through the guilt that filled it. 

But once again, you were there, rubbing loose circles on Annie’s back, murmuring soothing things into her ear, as stable and warm a presence as anything Annie had ever felt. 

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Everything with be alright, sweet girl. You’re going to be alright.” The words were sweeter than anything Annie had ever heard, and they went straight to the mass of pure guilt that made up her insides. She cried all the harder at the tenderness in your tone, the unfairness of being forgiven by someone who didn’t _know_. 

You sat there with her for longer than Annie could track, rubbing the same slow circles into her back and shoulders, whispering the same sweet words to her all the while. It was more kindness than Annie had ever known, and she found herself unable to stop the tears, the wails and sobs that still wracked her small frame. 

Annie cried and cried and cried, and it felt like she was finally forcing all the guilt out of her. She hadn’t been found out, this time, she’d told you herself what a rotten, disgusting person she was. 

And you’d forgiven her for it. 

Every time her thoughts slid back to that part, Annie cried all the harder. She still couldn’t believe you’d said something like that, that you’d been so willing to forgive a person so deserving of your hate. 

It was unbearable, the guilt inside of Annie unable to _take_ that much love from someone who should have known better. You knew the truth, you knew what she’d done, and you still looked at her like some kind of broken child instead of the monster she really was. 

It made Annie’s chest feel tight with some emotion she couldn’t place, like she was being choked on the regret that filled her. 

Eventually, she realized that you’d moved closer to her, sitting beside her on the bed and leaning in as close as you probably dared. You already knew Annie was unstable; it was smart not to get too close. 

But the heat of you right next to her, the feeling of a living person so close and warm brought fresh tears to Annie’s eyes. No one had dared do that since she’d been a child, since before her father, her father– 

Annie cut those thoughts off quickly, sobbing even harder into her knees. She couldn’t bear thinking about that part for long. 

Eventually, though, the tears slowed, started to dry. Annie felt like she’d cried about as much as a person could, emptied herself of so much guilt and pain she felt scraped raw and empty inside. It hurt, deep and aching through her, and Annie could feel the muscles in her jaw trembling, could taste blood where she’d bitten through her own lip in her rage. 

But you were still there, your hand still on her back, still humming the same soft words. That was probably the worst part, Annie thought, even though she was tired enough to be beyond caring how weak you saw her. She’d probably hate herself later, but for now, the only thing she could feel was a lingering sense of shame that you’d been so kind. 

Her throat felt raw, her body wrung out and tired like it hadn’t been since she first started training, and all Annie wanted was to sleep. She was tired, so tired, worn to the core from everything that had spilled out of her. 

Curling up even tighter, Annie heaved a shuddering breath. Next to you, she felt painfully small, like some kind of child, and the part that horrified her most was that that didn’t feel _bad_. 

Annie dared a hesitant glance out from under her shielding arms, to see what kind of disgusted face you’d be making now. 

To her shock, your expression was one of utter tenderness, soft and content, eyes closed and body leaning in to Annie as close as you dared. You looked gentle, kind, and it broke Annie all the more to see such a face directed at her, to see such kindness meant for only her. 

“Feeling better?” you asked, and Annie jolted. Your eyes had opened, and you were looking straight at her. 

Annie couldn’t bring herself to do anything more than softly nod, too ashamed to possibly speak. 

“Good. Just tell me when you want me gone,” you said, voice unbearably soft. “I’ll back off whenever you quit wanting me here.”

It was even worse that could possibly be so understanding, and Annie bit her lip all over again, trying not to cry any more than she already had. Keeping herself together under your kindness was so hard. Just trying to keep herself in one piece while you seemed determined to break her apart was almost more than she could bear. 

“I want to sleep.” Annie eventually said, voice low and shaky, sounding weak even to her own ears. 

“Okay. That sounds great. Do you want me to stay here with you or leave? I’m okay with whichever is more comfortable for you.”

Annie choked, imagining what it would be like to sleep with someone so warm and forgiving watching over her. That image alone was almost too much to bear, and she shook her head frantically, feeling all the more broken for the thought of it. 

“Got it. I’ll go, then. I’ll check on you again, promise,” you smiled, soft and gentle and everything Annie knew she didn’t deserve. “Oh, and before I forget, what’s your name? I know I should have asked sooner, but we kinda got caught up in. . . everything. . .”

Swallowing what felt like a throat full of knives, Annie could only manage a whisper. “A-Annie Leonhardt.”

“Annie. That’s a cute name. Thank you for telling me.” It was so easy, when you said it, to sound like you still wanted her. Annie had a sinking feeling you’d turn on her at the last second but, but– 

She wanted to hope, for once. 

She’d almost certainly live to regret it, almost certainly figure out all too late that you weren’t as kind as you seemed, but Annie was so tired. It was getting harder and harder to keep fighting the part of her that wanted to give in and trust your words, the kindness that you’d shown her. 

After introducing yourself, you stood up, slow and easy, sliding off the bed so Annie wasn’t jostled by it. Annie noticed too late that the chocolates you’d give her were all over the floor, knocked away in her little fit, and heat rose to her cheeks in shame at how little she’d realized what she was doing. 

When you left the room, closing the door softly behind you, a small, pitiful part of Annie wanted to cry for you to come back. She’d gotten so comfortable with you there, it was hard to bear the thought of facing her head all alone, and Annie had to force herself to keep her mouth shut. 

Instead, she laid back, finally forcing herself to uncurl from the tight little knot she’d worked herself into. 

Burying into the blankets, Annie did her best to hide, tuck herself small and hidden away from the world where she wouldn’t have to feel watched. If she closed her eyes, pulled the blankets over her head, she could almost pretend like she was safe. 

Annie was exhausted, tired to the core in a way that physical exercise had never done to her. She felt like she could sleep for years, felt like she’d be gone as soon as she closed her eyes. 

And, preparing herself to face what she’d have to when she woke up, Annie slept. 

. . . 

When Annie woke up again, the light filtering in was yellow-orange, probably a sign that it was mid-afternoon. Annie wasn’t quite sure when she’d woke up the last time, but it felt like quite a bit of time had passed.

She felt better, vaguely so, no longer so tired she felt worn to the bone. Her throat ached from screaming, not quite healed in the time she’d been out, but the fresh wounds she’d left on herself were gone.

Upon a quick inspection of her arms and torso, Annie found that her older wounds were almost entirely gone as well, yellow bruising faded into the slightest off-color tint, open wounds all scarred over pink and fresh. She didn’t hurt very much any more, just the dullest ache of wounds not quite healed, nothing more than the pain of muscles torn from training. 

Attempting to stand up, Annie’s legs finally took her weight, no longer shooting agony up her spine as soon as she tried to ease herself up. 

Annie stood, slowly, pointedly ignoring how small she felt in the shirt that fell loose around her legs. The memories of what had happened with you were still fresh in her mind, and Annie didn’t know if she could take any more shame, any more feelings of weakness. 

After a moment’s consideration, standing still and trying to decide what to do, Annie came to the conclusion that finding you would be wise. She felt hungry again, stomach churning unhappily, and getting more food was something easy she could do, even as miserable as she felt. 

Facing you, on the other hand, seemed almost impossible. 

Annie padded across the room, rather pleased to be standing up on her own after so long, and opened the door, warily looking out into the hallway she’d seen before. 

There were more doors past the bathroom she’d been in, stretching down a short hallway that ended in a flight of stairs. Now that she was aware enough to notice things, Annie took in the pastel, floral print on the walls, the bright wood beneath her feet, the strange lights near floating from the ceiling, bathing the hallway in a white glow. 

Everything still seemed so horribly strange, and Annie was reminded again of how foreign a world she was in. 

Walking carefully down the hall, listening carefully for any sounds of activity, Annie paused at the stairs. She could hear movement on the lower floor, the faint sound of someone humming happily, and instantly, she knew it was you. 

(Annie tried not to think too hard about how easily she recognized even that much of your voice, the soft, even sound of it from so far away.)

Slipping down the stairs, still hesitant of how much weight her legs could take, Annie entered a whole new world of strangeness. Everything, every piece of furniture she could make out was somehow _wrong_ , just the same as the bedroom, but twice as bad now that she was surrounded by it. Nothing looked quite right, all the colors and styles just a little bit off, and even worse, there were countless items that Annie couldn’t even name. 

Shaking faintly, Annie tried to take everything in. It was a lot to process all at once, the sheer difference of it all, but she forcefully reminded herself that she’d be staying here now, that she never intended to go back to the world that had wanted her dead. 

You were standing in what looked like a kitchen, tending a steaming pot of something on what Annie hoped was a stove, humming happily all the while in a soft, even tone that Annie hated to admit made everything seem a little more safe, a little less strange and unknown. 

“Um, I’m up,” she said, quietly, hoping you wouldn’t be angry with her for getting up and making her way downstairs on her own. 

You jolted a bit, turning around with a look of surprise that quickly morphed into a smile. “Oh, you can get up on your own? You’ve healed up this much already?” You sounded pleased, instead of accusatory. 

“Y-Yeah. I told you, I heal quickly.” The part about _being_ a titan was one thing that Annie hadn’t mentioned yet, even in her fit from before, and she was certain she didn’t want you to know. You already treated her like a person instead of a monster, and Annie would do anything for that not to change. If you knew what she was, the exact reason behind her healing, you’d surely change how you treated her, no longer see her as the child deserving of forgiveness you seemed to think she was.

Just looking at you was hard after everything she’d done, after the way she’d broken down in front of you, and yet Annie didn’t want to tear herself away. Your presence was comforting in a way Annie didn’t want to admit, more calming that she could ever let herself acknowledge. 

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. If you want something to eat, I was going to bring some of this up to you later, but if you’d like to wait here for a bit, I think it will be ready soon.” Well, that solved the problem of getting food, Annie thought, easing herself into a chair beside the kitchen table. At least she wouldn’t have to ask. 

Looking down, Annie couldn’t quite bear to face you. She still felt small, weak, as if everything you’d seen of her had broken down her facade for good, and it seemed as if she wouldn’t be able to put it back up. 

It was a strange thing indeed to know that someone had seen her at her weakest, seen past the tough, cold exterior she’d been cultivating since childhood, and Annie didn’t know quite how to take it. She’d spent so long trying to be everything _but_ weak, and now you seemed convinced that she was some kind of broken little girl deserving of your protection. 

And that was the most terrible part. 

That you thought you could forgive her, that you thought she even deserved it in the first place was almost more than Annie could take, the guilt of knowing just how _wrong_ you were eating her up from the inside out. 

Worst of all, the thing that Annie wanted even less to admit, was that she’d started to _like_ it. No one had looked at her as anything but dangerous in longer than Annie could remember, and having someone treat her like she was something other than a soldier or weapon or tool to be used was, in one of the most dangerous thoughts Annie had ever had, nice. 

She shouldn’t want to be coddled, shouldn’t need to be treated so gently. It was shameful that a warrior like her could possibly need to be handled with care, and yet, Annie couldn’t completely bring herself to mind it. You’d been nothing but nice to her, and it was very hard indeed to bring back the facade she’d been keeping close for years. 

“I think it’s ready now,” you said after a few minutes of leaving Annie to her thoughts. “Do you want to eat now, or wait a bit?”

“Now, please,” Annie said, still shocked at how soft and small her voice sounded to her own ears, more like a child than a warrior. 

You reached up into a cabinet, retrieving a bowl and ladling out a portion of what looked like soup into it. Annie had been smelling the food since she came downstairs, and the temptation of yet more of the strange, wonderful food from your world had been making her stomach tie itself in knots while she waited, almost enough to distract her from her thoughts. 

“Here you go,” you said, softly, placing the bowl full of white, creamy soup in front of Annie with a smile. “Hopefully you’ll like this too.”

The first bite was as amazing as everything else Annie has tasted in your world so far, all salt and thick sauce and chunks of potato, but Annie forced herself to eat slowly. She still remembered clearly what would happen if she tried to rush, how that would only end in her food being pulled away until she could slow down and eat at a speed that wouldn’t make her sick. 

Trying desperately to ignore how easily she was obeying you still, Annie focused on the food, the tastes and textures and smells of yet another wonderful meal. How all the food in your world managed to be so good, she’d never understand. 

Before she knew it, the bowl was empty, and Annie couldn’t help but look up at you hopefully once she’d finished. 

“I’ll give you more later, okay?” you smiled, taking the bowl from Annie’s hands, fingers brushing softly against her knuckles in a way that made Annie shiver despite herself. 

As you rinsed off the bowl in the sink across from the stove, Annie was struck with how _peaceful_ this scene was. Mere days after being almost killed by people who’d finally figured out that she deserved it, she was sitting warm and full and well at a table in the the home of someone who claimed to forgive her for it all. 

It was more peace than Annie thought she’d ever had, a kind of safety that Annie had never thought would be meant for her, and she hardly knew what to do with it all. Up until recently, all she’d been able to think of was the mission, and now, suddenly, she was in a situation where none of that mattered, where she could supposedly stay safe and well for as long as she wanted to. It was unbelievable, and Annie felt painfully lost. 

There was still the question of what she’d do with herself hanging over her head, when you inevitably got sick of taking care of her and left her to fend for herself, and in a thought that made Annie feel sickeningly weak, she found herself wishing that would never have to happen. 

If, if she could just stay with you, she’d be safe. If she could only find some way of making herself so useful to you that you wouldn’t want to kick her out, she could keep this newfound security. 

Annie was vaguely horrified with herself for even thinking that she wanted to _depend_ on someone else, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she didn’t have much choice. Everything she’d seen in your world so far was strange, confusing, and she’d surely be lost on her own. So far, you’d been willing to take care of her, to give her somewhere safe to stay, and Annie knew very well that she’d be stupid to throw that offer away. 

In a moment of childish hope, Annie wished that maybe this could be the end of everything, that maybe she could stay here with you forever and never have to think about missions or warriors ever again. 

It would be nice, she thought, hesitantly testing the idea, to give it up for good. Annie knew that she was pathetic for even thinking it, but Annie was _tired_. A large part of her just wanted to stop fighting, to give it all up and never look back. It shouldn’t be possible for someone guilty of as much as her to just escape it all, but you had, you had– 

You had forgiven her. You knew the truth, and you’d forgiven her. 

Abruptly, Annie felt sick. How could she be _thinking_ these things? It was foolish, childish, more naive than Annie thought she could possibly still be. The guilt was back to crawling up her throat like something alive, and Annie covered her face, feeling viciously ashamed of herself for thinking what she had. She should have outgrown those kinds of pathetic hopes years ago. 

Annie was suddenly shocked out of her thoughts by you sitting down across from her, apparently done with the dishes. She flinched, wound tight from thinking too deep, and glanced up at you nervously, as if you could see every shameful thing that she’d been thinking. 

“Sorry for startling you,” you said, meeting Annie’s gaze and smiling again. It still felt so _strange_ to be looked at with such happiness. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to talk a bit about what happened before.”

Stomach going cold, Annie swallowed a sick feeling and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to face this. She didn’t want to face how absolutely pathetic she’d been, how you’d surely be sick of her now, and it was so, so tempting just to get up and run away. 

“Okay,” she said instead, “What do you want?”

“Just to go over it a little. You were really upset, so I want to make sure you’re alright. Is that okay?” Nice, painfully nice all over again. Annie wanted to scream at you that she didn’t deserve this. 

“I’m fine. You. . . y-you didn’t have to do any of that.” It was hard to bear even the thought of you being forced to comfort and coddle her, and if the feeling of utter despair wasn’t still so thick in her mind, Annie knew she’d be furious with herself for ever allowing it to happen. 

“I know. I didn’t do it because I had to, I did it because I wanted to. You were scared, and I wanted to help you.” Just hearing that you’d seen how afraid she was made Annie feel sick She should have been better than that. She should have never allowed you to see just how weak she could be. It was disgusting, pathetic, and Annie’s hatred of herself was a living thing. 

(Warriors weren’t allowed to be weak. Warriors weren’t allowed to be vulnerable. Warriors weren’t allowed to need help.)

“Oh, and I meant it,” you continued, and Annie’s chest went cold. “I really do forgive you. I promise I do.”

“Why?” Annie asked after a long pause, trying to force herself to speak instead of just curling up and pretending like none of this was happening. It was all she could ask, even as she felt like breaking down all over again.

“Because you’re a child. Adults can make choices that kill people, but kids don’t come up with those ideas on their own. Someone told you to do those things, right?” Annie nodded, feeling cold all over. “That’s what I mean. It wasn’t your choice to hurt people, so I don’t blame you for it. It’s the people who forced a little girl to do it who should be blamed.”

Every word you said was soft and gentle, as if you were talking to some frightened, wild thing. Annie felt the part, as if she could snap all over again at any second, fall apart in front of you for the countless time. 

“But I, I-I still did it,” Annie finally managed, feeling on the verge of throwing up. “It was still my fault. You shouldn’t _wan_ t to forgive me! People are dead because of what I did!”

“And you didn’t want to do it, did you?” you said, and Annie’s whole world froze. 

“N-No, I, I was a warrior. It was my _job_ to do it. We couldn’t, c-couldn’t go home if we didn’t. I had to, I had to, i-it wasn’t,” Annie felt like she was falling apart, so shaky and small there would be nothing left of the pieces when she finally broke. 

“That’s what I mean,” you said, explaining slowly as if to a child. “You were young. You were threatened. It wasn’t your choice, and I’m not going to blame you for it.” Hands clenching, Annie’s jaw tightened. 

She was apparently silent for too long, because you continued. “I’m choosing to forgive you. It’s okay. I’m not going to hate you no matter what you tell me you did. You don’t have to be like that anymore. You can just be Annie, and you can be however you want.”

You reached across the table, placing your warm hand over Annie’s, rubbing the thumb over the sharp line of her knuckles. 

Fighting to keep tears from spilling out all over again, Annie didn’t say anything. She feared if she talked, she’d give it all away, that ever shameful thing she wanted to say would flow out of her like water. It would be so easy to admit how grateful she was, how badly she wanted you to really forgive her, but Annie didn’t know if she could live with herself if she did. 

There was a sick, hot feeling in the pit of her stomach, writhing like something alive, and Annie swallowed down the guilt once again. You were foolish for forgiving her, but it was your choice. 

And she couldn’t bring herself to try to force you to do otherwise. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, a pathetic little part of her said, to accept the forgiveness you were offering, to take the offer of safety and love you were extending and allow herself to be at peace. That little voice was whining like a child, and Annie was so ashamed she could taste it. 

You looked at her like a broken little girl instead of a monster, and to Annie’s continued horror, she didn’t hate it like she should. 

“Okay, okay, I can tell you don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, smiling softly. “Let’s change the subject.” And Annie was painfully grateful that she wouldn’t have to face this anymore. 

She almost thanked you, but held herself at the last second, too mortified to allow herself yet another moment of weakness. You were still being so nice to her, even after she’d disagreed with you, told you you were wrong, rejected the forgiveness you’d offered. 

It was almost unbelievable, and Annie found herself wondering when the kindness would inevitably come to an end. 

“So, is there anything you’d like to do?” you asked. “Now that you’re feeling better and all. I kind of live in the middle of nowhere, so there’s not a lot to do, but I’d be willing to make a trip into town if you wanted to have a look at where you’ve wound up.”

Annie barely held herself back from hollering that she _wanted_ you to stop being so disgustingly nice to her. She could hardly take it, after all she’d been through, and the knowledge that she couldn’t quite seem to scare you away was making her sicker than the threat of any battle ever had. It was so hard to take the kindness she knew she didn’t deserve. 

“I’d, I-I’d rather stay here.” The very idea of leaving the safety of this house, of her little room made Annie feel sick. It has only been a couple days, but she’d grown attached to her room, her safe space that she’d spent her time here so far hiding in. 

It was pathetic, but she was starting to associate her space with safety, with somewhere to hide from the guilt and shame that threatened to consume her. 

“Okay, that’s just fine. Like I said, you can stay here as long as you want. You’ll be safe here; I won’t let anything hurt you,” you said, blissfully unaware of what kind of monster you were offering to protect. 

Annie could barely take it. After everything she’d done, after every person who hated her and wanted her dead, here you were acting like she was worthy of your protection. It made her feel near nauseous, guilt crawling up her insides with claws, and she was torn between the parts of her than wanted to push you away and keep you from wasting your time, and the sick little fragment of her that wanted to beg for _more_. 

Reminding herself for the umpteenth time that she had been planning to take advantage of your kindness from the beginning, Annie swallowed and nodded, trying to pretend like the only reason she was sticking around was to protect herself. 

If you were really going to be this nice to her, if you were really going to act like you could forgive a broken girl with blood on her hands, Annie would take it. 

She wouldn’t admit to it, no, she wouldn’t ever let you know how weak you made her feel, but maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself to believe that you really wanted to help.


	5. And if it's true that I was made, I still don't know if I can change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Annie finally starts to relax in this chapter! Pretty much all of this is sweet scenes with Annie getting used to life with someone who cares about her. It's a darn relief from the poor girl freaking out and being miserable, and I'm _really_ glad she finally gets some happiness. 
> 
> I think there's going to be one more chapter of fluff before either Bertoldt or Reiner shows up, so if ya'll have any opinions on who should appear first, now's the time to tell me! :D
> 
> Also, I'm going out of town for a couple days starting tomorrow, so depending on if I can manage to write during the car trip or not, updates will either be slow for a couple days or even faster. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up a good pace~

Days passed, slow and comfortable and more peaceful than anything Annie had ever known. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to fight or train, and all she really did for most of it was hide out in her room, hiding from the world and finding peace in having nothing to do. 

It was strange to not _have_ to do anything but rest and eat, to be allowed so much time to herself to do what she pleased, and Annie found herself strangely content in the quiet of it all. Your house was a far cry from the crowded barracks she’d spent the last four years in, and she felt almost unnaturally content by herself in her little room. 

The only things Annie had done other than sit by herself and think were help with housework and spend time with you. 

The helping part came almost naturally to her, the desire to do something and make herself useful winning out over whatever pride she had left. You praised her for everything she did, smiled wide and delighted when she emerged from her room and did pretty much anything she could, and Annie was almost sickened by how happy it made her. 

(No one had ever praised her before. No one had ever treated her like everything she did, no matter how simple, had value. No one had ever looked at her like she was _good_.)

The spending time with you part was a little more complicated. It had started out when Annie just didn’t want to be left alone, couldn’t stand be by herself with her poisonous, vicious thoughts, but slowly it had changed. Anymore, Annie caught herself actually enjoying being with someone who didn’t demand anything of her. 

Annie hated it. She’d spent her whole life keeping as much distance from the world as she could, and only now, after almost dying, after breaking down in front of you countless time, she _wanted_ to be near you. 

It was enough to make her hate herself all over again, anger at being so weak coursing hot and slow through her veins. 

Back home, it would have gotten her killed. Those kids who got preoccupied with pathetic attractions were the ones too useless to be worth keeping around, after all. 

Annie had started out with a plan to pretend to be dependent on you, and somewhere along the line, it had actually happened. 

It wasn’t her _fault_ that you were so nice, that you’d come home with a pile of clothes that you’d told her were all her own, that you’d paid attention to what foods she’d liked best and cooked them for her almost every day, that you’d smiled at her every time you saw her like Annie was somehow worth your happiness. It wasn’t her fault that you could be so good. 

At first, it had made her almost sick. She obviously didn’t deserve to be treated so kindly, and even after the whole incident with you forgiving her for it all, she found it hard to believe that you really could care. 

Accepting that you really wanted to be nice to her wasn’t an easy road. Guilt lived inside Annie’s chest like something with teeth, and if getting past the feeling that she should be _dead_ wasn’t easy, getting herself to accept your kindness was twice as hard. 

Annie had a lifetime’s experience of pushing people away, and it would be so, so easy for you to be the next in a line of many. 

And yet, Annie couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Between you smiling at her like she was worth something, you offering her all the kindness you had, and those painful first few days of seeing just how good to her you could be, Annie couldn’t manage to push you away. 

That was the part that stood out to her the most, even though it hurt to admit it. The memories of your hand on her back, your soft smile being the first thing she woke up to when she could barely move, those were the parts that made Annie feel raw and weak, memories eating away at what was left of her dignity like acid. 

(A small, pathetic part of her wanted it back, wanted the tenderness and attention to return. You were still so nice to her, but it wasn’t the same as when she’d been helpless.)

Other than the continual, crushing hits to her pride, Annie had been fairly content. Your home had more food in it than she’d ever imagined one person could have, and you’d told her from the very beginning that she was allowed to eat whatever she wanted. 

Now that conversation, the one in which she’d finally snapped and practically demanded to know what rules you had for her, had been humiliating in every possible way. 

Annie had been expecting to have strict rules put in place, for you to decide that she couldn’t be trusted to act on her own, but instead, you’d given her more freedom than she’d ever had, insisting that she was a part of your home and could live just as any member of your family would. 

She’d _never_ admit it, but Annie had nearly teared up at that last part. After everything she’d done already, Annie knew you meant it. You really were dead set on forgiving her and giving her every bit of kindness you had. 

Currently, on day six of being in the strange, new world, Annie was sitting on your couch, watching the evening program on what you’d told her was called a television. It was a strange box filled with lights and colors that showed scenes from your world, and while she’d tried to tell herself it was only for the purpose of gathering information, Annie had started to enjoy the marvel of being able to see people halfway around the world. 

In the past few days, Annie had watched a lot of television, mostly a program that you described as “the news” in an attempt to learn exactly what kind of place she’d wound up in. 

Annie’s conclusion so far was that it was a bizarre one, filled with technologies that Annie couldn’t even begin to imagine. She hadn’t dared leave your house yet, and for good reason. The things called cars downright terrified her (loathe as she was to admit), and the idea of going outside into towns filled with the metal beasts scared her more than the idea of charging into battle against mindless titans. 

(There was no way those things could be safe. The very idea of them was dangerous and wrong on every level imaginable.)

It was late at night, Annie tired and half ready to slip back upstairs to her little room for the day. You were out on errands, though, and although it pained her like a physical wound to admit it, Annie wanted to see you again before she went to bed. 

Shameful, pathetic as it was, Annie was starting to rely on you. You were the only thing she could count on in the nonsensical world she’d woken up in, and your presence, she felt, was the only thing holding her back from panic. When you were around, it was easy to pretend like everything would be alright, like she wouldn’t ever be left on her own in this world. 

Annie didn’t even want to think of what would happen if she was abandoned now. At first, she’d been sure that she’d be able to fend for herself when you got sick of her, but the more she’d seen of your world, the less Annie felt like she’d ever make it on her own. 

Everything was huge and new and wrong in your world, and Annie doubted more than ever that she’d be able to survive without your help. 

You never forced her to go outside, never forced her to face anything she didn’t feel ready for, and in all humiliating honesty, Annie didn’t think she could take any more than the inside of your home. Just looking out the window at the fields of grain that surrounded the place made her feel nauseous, and Annie couldn’t imagine what it would be like in a town. 

So, for now, her plan of depending on you would be her only option. Annie _hated_ the idea of needing anyone as much as she was coming to need you, but there was very little she could do about it. 

All she was capable of, tired and confused and intimidated as she was, was hope that your kindness wouldn’t run out. 

(Someday, Annie knew, you’d get sick of her. You couldn’t possibly be so nice forever, and sooner or later, she’d be thrown out on her own. Annie had a sickening feeling that she’d _beg_ you to keep her when it happened, throw away whatever scraps were left of her pride to prevent herself from being abandoned all over again.)

Eventually, though, just as Annie’s vision was starting to blur from staring at the television for too long, the front door creaked open and banged shut, alerting her instantly that you were home. 

Forcing herself not to twist around and look for you, determined not to seem too eager to see you back, Annie sat still, subtly turning the volume on the television down so she could hear where in the house you were. Before long, your footsteps made it to a few feet behind her, and after depositing something crinkly and loud onto the table, you greeted her. 

“I’m home, Annie. How’d you hold up while I was gone?” Nice. Always so infuriatingly nice. Your first concern was always her. 

“Fine,” Annie said curtly, unwilling to give away the fragile little part of herself that was delighted you were home. 

“That’s good. I’m glad nothing bad happened. Give me just a minute to put the groceries away, and I’ll be right with you okay?” you asked, as if Annie’s opinion mattered. 

All Annie said in response was an unintelligible noise, forcing her eyes to stayed glued to the television. She’d been weak enough already, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to do any more to convince you that she was pathetic. 

She was tempted to help, to get up and do whatever she could to make herself too useful to you to throw away, but, after helping with laundry and dishes already that day, Annie felt like she’d done enough to show how desperate she was. You’d surely already be getting the impression that she wanted to be worth something to you. 

Before long, you were sitting down next to her, flopping back onto the couch in a manner so relaxed Annie could hardly believe it came from someone close to her. She was so used to being feared; your way of treating her like she was harmless never quite ceased to surprise her. 

“So, what are we watching?” you asked, smiling like you could really be happy to come home to her. 

“News, still. It’s. . . nice, to know about where I’m at,” Annie replied, quickly looking away from your gaze and back to the television. 

“I can imagine. If you ever want to go out and get a look at things, you know I’d be happy to take you. We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere, but there’s a little town not too far off.”

Annie shook her head quickly. She definitely wasn’t ready to go out in the middle of everything she’d seen. Just watching the world around her through the television was bad enough, and Annie didn’t want to even _imagine_ what it would be like to have to go outside and face it. 

“Okay. That’s okay. You can stay here as long as you want,” you soothed, as if you could sense Annie’s distress. “I’m just letting you know that if you want to go out, you can. I’d never force you.”

How you could be so accommodating, Annie would never know. No one had ever treated her with such gentleness, not the military, not her father, certainly not the people who had sent her to die, and Annie didn’t know what to _do_ with kindness that seemed to have no end. 

“I’ll. . . go out eventually,” she said, appeasing, a part of her hoping you’d respond happily to her trying to do what you want. “It’s just. . .” swallowing, choking down pride sour in her throat. “I don’t like cars. I don’t, I don’t know if I could go in one yet.” It felt pathetic, admitting her fear even in such a small way, and Annie could taste ash in her mouth. 

“Take your time, then. It’s okay to not want to leave yet. If this place feels safe for you, then by all means, I want you to stay,” you said. 

Annie flushed at the words, heat rising to her face at how you’d pointed out _exactly_ why she was sticking to your home. Annie herself didn’t like admitting that she felt safest in her little room, in your house, and hearing you say it was a bitter, humiliating thing. 

Neither of you spoke much after that, and time slowly passed, the man on the news going on about people and things that Annie didn’t know. She was still hoping she’d catch something that made sense, something that hinted towards where she was from if she listened long enough, but that hope was a childish thing. 

Annie knew well that she had no place left anywhere in her world. 

Eventually, Annie’s eyelids started to droop. She’d been sleeping more since she’d arrived in your world, probably in some attempt to recover from the stress and strain of the time before, and Annie was fighting off sleep before she knew it, even as she sat next to you. 

She was warm, she was safe, and the even hum of the television the background was easing her into a half sleep, and even as Annie remembered that you were sitting right there next to her, she was too tired to care. 

Closing her eyes for just a moment, Annie considered going upstairs.

She didn’t. . . didn’t _want_ to leave your company, the safe, content feeling she got when you were around, but she didn’t exactly want to sleep in front of you either. All the training of her life would have insisted she go upstairs and hide before she showed any more weakness, but Annie was much too tired to pay that part of her thoughts much mind. 

It couldn’t hurt if she slept for just a moment, Annie thought, letting the blur of sleep overtake her for what felt like an instant.  
And then, suddenly, she was waking up to warmth unlike anything she’d ever felt, twisted over on her side with something ridiculously soft beneath her. 

Annie almost didn’t want to open her eyes. The fog of sleep was clouding her mind, thick and heavy like a blanket weighing her down. She was comfortable, she was warm down to the core of her, and she wanted nothing more than to cuddle down into that heat and never leave. 

It was the safest she’d felt in years, warm all over and unknowing of anything but the gentle, lulling mist clogging her head. For just a few moments, she didn’t have to _think_. 

But reality quickly sunk in, Annie waking up faster than she would have liked, and her eyes snapped open in a panic. 

She was laying half on top of _you_ , curled around your side like she was cuddling a pillow, head rested on the curve of your chest. You were the warm, soft thing beneath her, and all at once humiliation crashed down on Annie until she was choking under it, breath catching short and fast in her throat as just what she’d _done_ sunk in 

Scrambling backwards, feeling you jolt as soon as she moved, Annie forced herself back and away to the other side of the couch. She couldn’t have done that. It couldn’t have been real. This had to be some kind of awful dream that she’d wake up from in a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, meeting Annie’s confused, frantic eyes. “Are you alright?” And Annie wanted to scream all over again. 

“ _What did I do_?” she hissed, sounding wild and wound tight, voice coming short and harsh in her panic. 

“Oh, you mean where you were sleeping?” you said, as if it wasn’t something awful that Annie had gotten so close. “You just kind of scooted over in your sleep. I didn’t want to wake you up, so I didn’t do anything to stop it. I’m really sorry if I should have done something different.”

You were nice, so nice, and Annie felt like she was choking. 

It had been one thing when she was injured, too weak to even stand on her own, to accept your scraps of affection. It has been one thing to let you rub her back as she broke down, to let you close while she’d been consumed with guilt and hate so deep and fierce it could devour her. 

Now that she was well, moving close to you on her own in search of more attention was nothing short of pathetic. You should hate her for it, now that you’d seen how weak and disgusting she could be.

And the worst part, the most horrible, humiliating part was that she’d _liked_ it. Annie remembered all too clearly the feeling of safety and warmth, how _good_ it had felt to be curled up close to someone so warm and alive, and that one moment of weakness made her hate herself like nothing else. 

Annie wanted to run, to hide back upstairs where she wouldn’t have to face this, but her body wouldn’t seem to move. 

“Hey, easy, it’s okay,” you comforted, voice soothing Annie’s wild nerves in ways that made her hate herself all the more. “It was just an accident, okay? I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong, Annie, you were asleep and I didn’t mind anyway. It’s okay.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Annie snapped, finally forcing her body to cooperate, unable to take a second more of your disgusting sympathy. She didn’t deserve it, you both knew it, and she couldn’t take you trying. 

Rushing up the stairs, gritting her teeth until they ached, Annie slipped into her room, quickly shutting the door behind her and leaving herself in an isolated space. She wouldn’t have to face you here, you wouldn’t come after her and try to make her talk, and that was the only comfort Annie had. 

The kind of thing she’d done was weaker than anything Annie could be allowed. Back home, she would have gotten in more trouble than she could have imagined for being so disgustingly needy, and even here, you should have been so much angrier. She wasn’t helpless anymore. She wasn’t injured. There was no excuse for her to be acting like some kind of pathetic child, and Annie found herself furious that you hadn’t shoved her away. 

Unhappily, Annie slid into her bed, wrapping the blankets around her and forming a little cocoon of misery, surrounding herself in the smell she now knew was laundry detergent. 

The worst part, the part that she couldn’t _stand_ to admit, even to herself, was how good it had been. Annie had never imagined that being so close to another person could feel so wonderful, that the warmth of another living being could possibly be so comforting, and yet, a disgusting little part of her wanted it back, wanted to curl up close all over again. 

Annie shut that part of herself up as quickly as she could. 

Ignoring the weak parts of herself as thoroughly as she could, Annie curled herself into a tight little ball. She didn’t quite feel safe sleeping unless she was knotted up as small and hidden as she could be, and it was so easy to give in and make herself small in this room where no one was watching. 

(She wished it was next to you, warm and small and protected by someone who _wanted_ her. She wished she could curl up into your chest and never never never have to leave.)

Annie fell asleep once again, alone and filled to bursting with rage. She couldn’t stand how weak she had been, anger wracking her small frame.

. . . 

The next day, Annie was doing everything possible to not mention what had happened the night before. Thankfully, you didn’t seem intent on bringing it up, and the morning had passed without any more mortal hits to what remained of Annie’s pride. 

Feeling small and ashamed, Annie was half tempted to ignore you, to keep her distance and not have to face any more of what she’d done. 

And yet, she got up like it was any other day, slunk down to the kitchen for a breakfast of leftovers that you heated up for her in the strange cooking box that Annie was still hesitant to use. You smiled at her like nothing was wrong, made stupid small talk like you always did, and passed her her food without demanding anything in return. 

Annie herself stayed bitter and out of the way, responding in one word answers and unhappy noises to whatever you asked, desperate to quit giving away how weak she’d been but unable to _stop_. 

But time passed, easy and slow, and it was afternoon before Annie knew it. You hadn’t yet done anything to point out what had happened, and Annie was just barely starting to relax. She still didn’t want to think about what she’d done, but with even you doing nothing to bring it up, Annie was starting to believe that it would never have to be mentioned again. 

She spent the afternoon doing laundry with you, learning how to use the machines that you were so insistent worked better and faster than washing everything by hand, folding up small piles of clothes because it was about the only thing she could do on her own. 

The work was easy, calming, and even surrounded by strange machines and things that she didn’t know, Annie found herself starting to relax. She always did feel better when doing something to be of use. 

What really made Annie’s throat feel tight and cold, though, was the small pile of clothes that were all her own. After the bloody pieces of her old uniform had been deemed too filthy and damaged to keep, you’d come home with brand new clothes all for her, insisting that she had to wear something other than an old shirt that barely fit. 

Suddenly having so many things all to herself was beyond strange, even more so that you’d willingly bought all of them for her. Not everything fit quite right, the sizes estimated, but Annie was borderline possessive over the few things that were now hers and hers alone. 

(She kept the pink shirt you’d first given her, couldn’t bear to let you take it away. Something about the worn fabric still felt safe.)

The day passed, Annie dealing with her own clothes fairly quickly and settling in to watch more of the news. She was still painfully confused by everything she saw and heard, but knowing was better than not, and Annie forced herself to try to learn everything she could. 

Admittedly, it felt strange not to be training, her muscles aching in a strange, unhappy way in the days that had passed without it. Annie had been training since she was so young she couldn’t remember anything else, and it felt wrong in every way not to be doing something to keep it up. 

She’d tried some basic exercises in her room, tried to do something, anything to keep up the routine she’d learned so well in her childhood, but it hadn’t stuck. She’d given up on day five, finally accepting that she just didn’t _want_ to force herself anymore. Training had always been something she’d been made to do, and without anyone to force her to do it, it was painfully easy to sleep and rest and do everything but keep herself strong. 

So Annie gave up. Instead of forcing herself to do bodyweight exercises in her room, she came downstairs and settled in on the couch, turning on the news and ignoring what she felt like she had to do. 

You emerged from your work room soon enough (you worked from home, you said, over something called a computer), and sat down next to Annie just like the day before. 

“What are you watching?” you asked, just like every day. 

“News,” was all Annie said, eyes fixed on the man on screen, taking in everything he said about what was happening in your world. 

“Cool. Learning anything new?” You were smiling at her, easy and tender as ever, as if she hadn’t practically been in your lap the night before.

“Whatever politicians are in your world are even more screwed up than the ones in mine,” Annie said, bitter. “I don’t know what a lot of this means, but it sounds like your government is in trouble more often than not.”

You laughed, the sound lighting up something pathetic in Annie’s chest. “That’s very true! You’ve about got the idea of it. So, um, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the government like in your world?” 

Annie stiffened, not wanting to talk too much about where she was from, but answered you anyway, as short and simple as she could. 

It turned out not to be too bad to talk to you about the non-dangerous parts of where she was from, and before long, your conversation had devolved into a back and forth on the differences between your world and where Annie was from. You, thankfully, avoided any subjects based on the military or Annie’s past, and for that, she was painfully grateful.

Still in disbelief at how peacefully she was suddenly allowed to live, the reality of the situation came crashing down on Annie like a landslide. 

She’d been revealed. She’d failed her mission. She’d been almost killed by the people that had claimed to be her family. And now, she was sitting warm and full and safe next to someone who genuinely seemed to want her to be happy. After everything she’d been through, Annie had somehow made it out alive and well. 

It was staggering, this life that she’d fallen into. A life of good food and a room all her own and a person who’d bring her home clothes and heat up her food because she was still too scared of the strange machines. 

Annie felt herself shaking, suddenly overwhelmed by how much kindness she’d been shown. After everything she’d been through, after everything she’d done, being welcomed into someone’s home and taken care of like a beloved family member was the last thing she’d expected. It was still hard to deal with, that you really wanted to be good to her. 

The guilt that ate at Annie’s insides surged up sharp and fierce in her throat. She didn’t deserve this. She couldn’t possibly deserve your kindness. Annie swallowed thick and heavy, choking back the feeling that everything was wrong. She knew all too well that she wasn’t meant for tenderness and care, and it was so _hard_ to take how well you treated her, how you acted like she was less a monster than a broken little girl. 

“Oh, that’s right!” you said, suddenly, breaking Annie out of her thoughts like she’d been shoved back into reality. “I brought something special home for you yesterday. Have you ever heard of ice cream?”

Shaking her head, Annie tried to focus on the reality around her. It wouldn’t do to get caught up in those awful thoughts all over again. 

“I’ll go get it! Wait here a sec, okay?” You were standing up before Annie could say anything, hurrying to the kitchen and rummaging around in the coldest of the two boxes that held your food. 

When you came back, you were holding a small, round container of something Annie didn’t recognize, a spoon clasped in your other hand. 

“I wasn’t sure what flavor you’d like, so I went with plain vanilla,” you said. “I figured you’d like pretty much anything, anyway. I know how you feel about the food here, especially sweet stuff, so I hope this is okay.”

Scooping up a small amount of the white stuff that was inside the container, you held the spoon out to Annie, as if it was no big deal that you were practically offering to _feed_ her. 

Flushing, Annie froze up. She wanted to try the food, of course she did. Everything she’d had so far in your world had been wonderful, and considering that you said this was sweet, she already had a strong feeling that she’d like it. But allowing you to feed her was an entirely different thing.

(If she complained, you might take it away. If she made a fuss, you might decide you didn’t want it to be for her after all.)

In a moment of bravery, Annie swallowed her pride and leaned forward, taking the offered bite off the spoon and trying to pretend like she wasn’t having a small mental war with herself as she did. 

Immediately, just as it had with the chocolate a few days ago, sweet lit up Annie’s mouth, this time a subtle, soft flavor that spread over her tongue smooth and cloying. It was amazing, as she’d expected it would be, and Annie had to hold back a small whine of delight. 

Annie decided very quickly that she liked ice cream. 

“Good?” you asked, smiling happy-bright and meeting Annie’s eyes. 

Nodding, Annie immediately accepted the next bite you held out, only snatching the container and spoon away from you when you got too slow in offering her more, realizing too late what she’d done. 

Fortunately, you only laughed when she took the ice cream from you, making some pleased comment about you being glad she liked it.

All too soon, the ice cream was gone, Annie’s spoon scraping the bottom of the container as she searched for any food that remained, and it was only then that it truly sunk in what she’d done, that she’d allowed you to feed her like some kind of child, even just for a few moments. 

But, instead of the shameful, sharp feeling she was used to, Annie didn’t feel much of anything. It hadn’t been too bad to take the food from your hands, honestly, and she really didn’t have the energy to be upset. 

The food was good, you were kind, and Annie couldn’t bring herself to bother with hating herself for allowing you so close. 

Distantly, Annie knew she’d be furious later, so ashamed of acting so weak that she’d be able to taste the humiliation, but for now, with her stomach full of sweet food and her mind at ease, Annie couldn’t quite bring herself to care too much what she’d done. 

Maybe it was a sign she was going tame, maybe it was a sign your kindness had finally gotten through to her a little. Annie didn’t know, and she didn’t want to think about it for too long. 

. . . 

On day nine of being with you, Annie had decided to try to help you cook, to try to face the residual nervousness she felt whenever she thought about actually using the strange machines in your kitchen. 

Annie hated being afraid, hated the feeling of needing you to do things for her that she _should_ have been able to handle on her own, and in a desire to bring the need to rely on you so much to even a bit of an end, Annie had requested that you teach her how to use the “microwave”.

She’d realized too late that she was just asking for even more of your help, outright depending on you to teach her how to make the machine work, and a bitter, sick feeling sprang in her chest at the thought.

(She’d realized, even later, that that thought didn’t make her feel entirely bad, that the idea of relying on you was no longer one that made self hate clog her throat with something black like tar.)

“So, you press these buttons for how long it should cook,” you said, pointing at the little numbered buttons all over the machine. 

Annie nodded, hoping she understood. “And how long do leftovers cook for?” she asked, feeling vaguely angry with herself for needing you to explain so much, to walk her through even the simple things. 

“For these, try two minutes. So, what button would you press for that?” you asked, and Annie felt childish for needing you to check. 

“The two,” she said, blunt and a bit angry. 

“Yep! Good job! You’ll have this figured out in no time.” As you walked past, you ruffled one hand through Annie’s hair, and Annie shivered despite herself. Contact with you was so easy a thing, compared to all the years of keeping herself distant and cold to anyone who would have tried. 

Annie had been wearing her hair down, lately, loose around her shoulders instead of tied up like she’d had it for years. Part of her just didn’t want to ask you for some string to tie it up with. Part of her didn’t want to feel even close to the way she had when she’d been back _there_ , didn’t want to catch her reflection and see the same person she’d always known. 

She was tired, so tired, of having to face _herself_. Annie knew she was a monster, knew that you were just one more awful fact away from getting sick of her, and the part of her that knew that you finding out what she really was would end in that forgiveness finally being ripped away felt sick and fragile at the thought, painfully distressed by the idea of losing this. 

She’d realized, somewhere around that morning, that she didn’t want to leave you. Your home felt safe, with her little room and strange furniture and you always there and ready to smile every time you saw her, and Annie had finally admitted to herself that she didn’t want to lose it. 

A part of her still felt like you’d throw her out, like someday you’d realize that you were making a mistake by taking her in.

Pressing the button on the microwave, Annie forced herself not to think. You were working on something beside her, mixing up the ingredients for some home made bread that you insisted Annie would love. 

“Can you pass me the flour please, Annie?” you asked, gesturing towards a bag off the stuff resting on the counter nearby. Choking down the sick feeling at how obedient she was to you, Annie did as you said, grabbing the bag and handing it to you as the microwave hummed behind her. 

And the bag ripped open as soon as she held it in empty air. 

All at once, panic crashed down on Annie like a wave. She’d messed up. She’d messed up. She’d broken something of yours and as she saw the flour filling the air, coating the floor and her clothes and you she felt on the verge of bursting. You’d be angry, you’d be furious with her for messing up, and Annie couldn’t, she couldn’t– 

You laughed, happy and easy and filling the emptiness in the room like it wasn’t even there. 

“Guess that bag wasn’t too good, huh?” smiling, you shook the flour off your hands, looking at Annie like she’d done nothing wrong. “It’s not your fault, hon, don’t worry about it.”

Annie didn’t know which part cut her deeper; the sweet, loving pet name said as easy as if Annie deserved it, or how you forgave her like she done absolutely nothing wrong. She was shook out of her panic before it could even kick in, swayed back by your words. 

“But– But I– I _broke_ it,” was all Annie could say, staring in disbelief at the mess she’d made. 

“Accidents happen. It’s alright. I bet that bag had a tear in it to begin with,” you laughed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident.”

How she could possibly accept that, Annie didn’t know. Stupid mistakes would have gotten her in so much trouble with her father, clumsy accidents would have gotten her nothing but pain in the military, and yet you were acting like it was no big deal that she’d made a mess of your kitchen, flour spread all over the floor like a storm had hit. 

Annie felt frozen, heavy, as if your anger would kick in at any moment, as if as soon as she let her guard down she’d be in trouble just like she’d imagined she would.

And then you picked up a handful of flour and tossed it at her. 

Flour spattering over her clothes, Annie snapped out of her thoughts like she’d been slapped. You were laughing, smiling, bent over and giggling like you’d discovered something wondrous, and Annie stared down helplessly at the flour now covering her clothes. 

Before she knew it, she was picking up a handful of her own, throwing it at you with deadly accuracy and enough force to make spatter over your chest in a small explosion. 

Annie froze, half expecting you to get angry with her now that she’d let a snap decision get the better of her, but instead, all you did was pick up more flour and toss it back, laughing so hard you could barely aim. 

Within minutes, it had devolved into an all out flour war, white coating the both of your clothes, faces, and the majority of the kitchen. Annie knew that this would be a disaster to clean up later, but she was having too much fun to stop, feeling more _free_ than she had in years. 

You weren’t angry with her. You weren’t going to hurt her. You were playing with her like the two of you were a couple of kids, wasting food and making a mess for no reason other than it made you happy. 

She never would have done this back in the military, Annie knew. She’d spent four years actively avoiding this kind of happiness in order to make sure she’d never get close to anyone who could hurt her. 

It would have gotten her in trouble at home to behave so childishly. Her father would have beat her for focusing on her own fun instead of the mission she had to spend every waking moment training for. Annie never would have been able to do this at any other point in her life without fearing pain for wasting time, being something she shouldn’t. 

But now, as a smile stretched across her face, wide and delighted and happier than Annie knew she could be, she did nothing to stop it.


	6. Let me in the wall, you've built around, And we can light a match and burn it down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 is here! :D This one took a bit longer due to me starting another fic (which ya'll will see in a little while), but I'm pretty happy with it! By this point, Annie is trusting reader about as much as she can, and things are getting much better for her. She's still a traumatized child, and she's still having trouble with the little things, but she's doing her best. 
> 
> I think I've decided that Reiner will be the next character to appear, mostly because I had an absolutely _wicked_ idea for what to do with Bertoldt, and I think I'll save the worst for last, so to speak. I'm still taking opinions, though, and if I get a worse idea for Reiner the plan might change. 
> 
> Next chapter the next character will be appearing! I'm estimating the finished fic at around 18-25 chapters, so we still have a loooong way to go! :D As always, I'll look forward to comments~ They make me write _much_ faster, honestly.

Before long, Annie lost track of how many days had passed. She was too distracted, too _happy_ to keep careful count of the days, not when she had little to do but rest and help around the house and spend time with you. It was strange, but she was starting to find contentment in not needing to train or force herself to keep up a routine. 

The days had slid by easy as anything, and before Annie knew it, she found herself not caring too much how long she’d been in your home. You never acted like you wanted those days to come to an end, after all. 

(She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay with you forever and never ever have to go back to being a soldier or a warrior or anything but the person you saw her as.)

It was getting easier and easier to loosen up, to let herself do what she wanted instead of listening to the part of her that told her she should be ashamed of herself for ever thinking she could be happy. The little voice that told her everything was going to come to an end was quieter, now, and Annie was starting to listen to the part of herself that told her to be happy instead. It was seeming much, much more relevant, these days. 

You were as kind as ever, too, and that alone made Annie want to never leave. Your voice was still the most gentle that had ever been directed at her, your smile the happiest thing that had ever been meant for her, and Annie was starting to find herself _trusting_ you in the smallest of ways. 

Had it been mere weeks ago, she would have hated herself for even thinking it, but slowly, slowly, you were starting to seem like someone she could place her faith in, someone she could truly believe in. 

Annie didn’t know when she’d gone from furious with you for forgiving and accepting her to painfully grateful that you had. 

You were the first person in her life to look at her like she was anything but a warrior or a monster, to look at her like she was a little girl instead of something made for war, and those soft glances were what had broken her, that forgiveness what had torn her apart. 

Annie was getting used to soft clothes, to a full stomach, to slow days spent washing dishes and waiting for you to come home from whatever errands kept you busy. She could _feel_ herself getting soft, but it hardly mattered. What she should have been cold shame crawling up her gut was nothing but background noise in the sudden peace of her life. 

Waking up every morning to her little room, biological clock forcing her awake with the sun, Annie would sit in bed by herself, curled up small and warm under thick, clean blankets where she didn’t have to do anything. 

You’d never make her get up, never demand she start training as soon as it was light like her father had, and she was starting to enjoy long, lazy mornings spent at peace with herself until her stomach demanded she get up and find something to eat. 

Annie had learned how to use the microwave, the strange stove in your kitchen, but you were still willing to make food for her. If she asked nicely, she could sit at the table and watch you heat something up for her, watch you cook fluffy pancakes and drench them in the sweetest syrup she’d ever tasted when you were done. 

She could eat as much as she wanted, no longer have to ration out food or stick to a diet that left her hungry and tense. She could eat until her stomach was full, and all you’d do was be happy she was well. 

When Annie wanted to, she could busy herself with housework, make herself useful to you and satisfy that little part of herself that was terrified of being thrown away. It felt _good_ to do something that would make you happy, something that would make you smile at her and praise her for doing well. Annie was getting used to those little moments of praise, and for once, there was nothing stopping her from enjoying them. 

Her days were spent peacefully, quietly, watching TV and doing exercises in her room when her body demanded she move. She could do what she wanted, as long as she stayed out of your way while you were working, and there was nothing stopping her from doing exactly what she wanted, keeping herself busy with whatever made her happy. 

(The strangest part, the part that Annie had trouble admitting even to herself was that she _was_.)

What shocked Annie the most was how tame she was becoming. She’d fallen asleep on your couch, in the living room where anyone could walk in and hurt her a couple times already, and even after the passing stab of cold fear when she woke, nothing bad had happened. 

That alone, that weakness that would have gotten her punished anywhere she’d been used to, was what was the most confusing. Annie could hardly believe how soft she was getting, while she was with you. 

Annie tried to force herself away from those thoughts before she could get stuck thinking about them for long. 

It was a dangerous thing indeed to allow herself to consider her situation, to let herself sit and think about exactly what she was doing. It was nothing short of a miracle that she’d wound up with someone who wanted to take care of her, and Annie knew that if she let herself doubt her predicament for an instant she’d be right back where she’d started, panicked and afraid that she’d be thrown away. 

She’d gotten used to this peaceful way of living, and, as hard as it was to admit, she didn’t want to do _anything_ to ruin it. You were good to her, you treated her so well, and Annie would deny any thought she had that tried to get in the way of the happiness she’d found. 

Living with you was nothing like any life Annie had found so far, and the larger part of her, the part that could stand to ignore her pride and depend on the first person to _want_ to take care of her insisted that she take advantage of it. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to be thrown away, didn’t want you to ever stop treating her like she was precious. 

Laying on the couch, news announcer a constant hum in the background, Annie had to force herself to stop thinking. She was starting to get upset, starting to feel that pressing, clawing feeling that she should be _ashamed_ , and she knew well that that feeling would eat away at her. 

Annie shook her head, trying to physically dislodge the thoughts that were scratching at her mind. She didn’t want to think about how pathetic she was becoming, not now, not ever. 

Fortunately, you emerged from your work room just as Annie was starting to slip, stretching and yawning as if your work for the day had completely worn you out. Annie immediately forced herself to switch her focus over to you, _anything_ to take away from where her mind was going. 

“You okay?” she asked, pushing away the feeling that she was annoying you, bothering you when you had other things to do. 

“Yeah, just tired. I’m okay, you don’t have to worry,” you smiled, stepping close to the couch and patting one gentle hand against Annie’s shoulder. You gave contact so easily, as if you’d never thought of using it to hurt someone, and Annie hardly knew what to do with it. 

Ignoring the little shudder that went through her at the gentle touch, Annie forced her expression neutral and even. “I’m not worrying. You’re yawning so loud I could barely hear the news.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you laughed. “I’ll try to be more quiet.” As if you both didn’t know that Annie was just trying to be tough. 

That was the frustrating part, how you always humored her, how you allowed her to get away with acting like she was above it all. You never tried to stop her from playing tough, even though you clearly knew she was different, and Annie felt choked up, cold all through her every time you let some bitter words, some frigid reaction slide like it meant nothing. 

She was so used to being cold, so used to pushing people away that it was hard not to, even with you. As much as she tried not to admit it to herself, Annie didn’t _want_ you to step away, didn’t want the unnatural kindness you offered her to ever be torn away. 

You sat down on the couch next to her, glancing at the news still running in the background. The announcer was talking about an earthquake in a country Annie didn’t recognize, voice tense and serious. 

“Sounds like it’s pretty bad,” you murmured, sounding concerned “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No. I don’t know what much of this means. I don’t even know what country they’re talking about,” Annie said, bitterly, looking pointedly away from you and back towards the television and the announcer on it. 

The scene on the television soon changed, one of the ads that made even less sense than the news starting to run. Annie watched the strangely dressed people move across the screen, smiling wide and talking about some product that Annie didn’t understand.

Everything about the world outside looked so confusing, so much more complicated that your home and the fields outside. And yet. . . 

“I want to go outside,” Annie said, suddenly. 

“Oh, really? And here I thought you were going to stay a shut in forever.” It was an obvious joke, trying to lighten the mood, but Annie couldn’t help but bristle unhappily. “Where do you want to go?”

“To. . . to town. You said there’s a little one near here.” Annie didn’t want to go. She was happy with her little room, this safe house where nothing from her past could ever come back to get her. But she was sick of being afraid, sick of hiding inside so cowardly she would have been punished for it back home. It wasn’t right for her to act afraid of something so small. 

“Yeah, there is. It’s pretty small, so you might be okay with it. Are you sure you want to go out? I know you’re kind of. . . nervous, about leaving the house.” You didn’t mention how Annie avoided the windows, how Annie had refused to even step outside in all the time she’d been with you. 

“I’m going to,” Annie said, bluntly. “I’m sick of hiding in here, so I’m going out.” A part of her felt bad for being so rude to you, especially when you were the one who would be taking her out, but she couldn’t stop. 

“Okay. I’ll take you. When do you want to go?” You seemed perfectly happy, as if Annie wasn’t being nothing but cold to you. 

“As soon as we can. I don’t– I don’t want to wait too long and back out.” Just admitting that much hurt, a bitter, angry little part of Annie insistent that she was showing far too much weakness to you. 

“Today, then? It’s still pretty early, so we’d have time to drive out there and do something.” Annie had known that she’d have to get into a car to go out, but actually facing it made something sick and small churn in her gut. She didn’t like those things, even now, the hurtling metal death traps seeming _wrong_ to her in every way even after weeks of seeing them. 

“Yeah. That would be good. Just. . . don’t let me not go,” It was hard to say, to admit that she was afraid even in such a roundabout way. You made a concerned face, looking at Annie like she was doing something she shouldn’t. “Don’t push yourself, okay? Don’t go if it’s gonna make you upset; I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Annie hissed, feeling disgusted that you’d seen through her. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll go. Come on then. I promise I won’t let you back out.” You stood up, stretching once again, and started towards the door that Annie had never been through, set off to the side of the kitchen. 

Swallowing her fear, Annie followed you, standing up and forcing her legs to move. She didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave the safety of your house, but she could never live with herself if she kept acting so afraid. She _had_ to go, whether she liked it or not.

The door led out to something that you told Annie was called a garage, where your car was waiting. It was a smaller one, dull red, but Annie didn’t feel any better seeing that it was small. She still didn’t trust the thing, and as the realization that she was technically outside the house set in, she felt a nauseous feeling rising deep in her stomach, stinging through her chest. 

You opened the passenger side door for her, smiling with something like worry shot through it, and Annie forced herself to frown, not to show how afraid she really felt. Even as she sat down, fear spiked through her. 

Sliding into the other side, you rested your bag on the middle platform between the seats, pulling out a ring of keys and inserting one into part of the car. The engine revved to life, and Annie jumped, tension shooting through her hot and fast as near panic started to rise in her throat. 

The realization that she was really going to leave the house, that she was really going to go into a car was setting in, and Annie felt like running away, bolting back up to her little room and avoiding this all for good. 

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you said, breaking the tense silence that had descended upon the two of you. 

“Shut up,” Annie growled, refusing to look at you even for a second. 

“I mean it. I can tell you’re afraid. It’s okay to just stay inside if you’d rather. There’s nothing wrong with not leaving the house. You can take all the time you need to be ready for this.” You were nice, too nice, and Annie felt sick. She wasn’t meant to be coddled like this. 

“I have to. I can’t live with myself if I don’t.” The words that came out were more honest than Annie wanted them to be, somehow. 

“Okay. I’ll be right here for you, though. You don’t have to face anything alone.” You reached out and patted Annie’s head where she was still ducked away from you, brushing soft fingers through her hair. 

“. . . I know,” was all Annie could manage, feeling choked up by the kindness that she still knew she didn’t deserve.

Eventually, you shifted something in the car, pressed a button that made the large door rise behind you with a sudden noise that made Annie jump, and the car started to slowly move. 

Annie found herself tensing up, body going tight with unspoken nerves just the same as if she was going into battle. The leather seat was soft behind her, the slow movement of the car was nowhere near as jostling as she’d expected, but Annie still felt vaguely terrified. She was inside some metal machine, going to be moved by something that she had no control over, and there was nothing she could do but take it. 

The car pulled away from your house, and Annie had to fight back nausea crawling sick and hot up through her. All she could see were the golden fields that surrounded your house, the grain waving in the breeze, and the sky that went on for what seemed like forever. 

It was the first time she’d been outside in the weeks she’d been with you, the first time she’d ever faced the world beyond your home. 

Feeling sick to her stomach, Annie clenched the interior of the car with a white-knuckled grip, holding on for dear life as the car started to pick up speed. You pulled away from your house, and Annie had to fight back a whimper at how it already looked so far away. She didn’t want to be out here, didn’t want to leave her little room, but now she had no choice. 

Driving along a narrow, dirt road, you slowly picked up speed, going faster and faster as Annie’s head spun. This was the fastest she’d ever moved outside of her warrior, and the sheer lack of control was dizzying. 

“Easy, Annie. It’s okay. You’re not going to get hurt,” you soothed, glancing over at her with a soft smile. “I promise cars are safe.”

Making a choked sound, Annie fought back a bitter remark about how she didn’t _feel_ very safe. “Just keep d-driving. I’m okay,” she said instead, voice shaky and weak even to her own ears. 

“Alright. It’ll be okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you out here. No one knows who you are. You’re going to be safe.” You were comforting her, Annie realized, actually making an effort to ease her worries about being outside of your home, as if she was weak enough to need it. 

Annie wanted to lash out at you for trying to coddle her, but the gentle words were kinder than anything she could have imagined, soothing her frazzled nerves in ways she didn’t want to admit. 

(She liked it. She liked your soft voice and the way you talked like everything would be easy and well and never try to hurt her again.) 

Swallowing her pride, Annie kept her head down, trying desperately to avoid looking at the road ahead. Whenever she saw how _big_ the world was around her, she started to panic. Just listening to your quiet words was much easier, much safer than facing the world outside the car. 

Wishing she could curl up, Annie forced herself not to look up, even as the car took a series of turns that made her feel sick to her stomach. The seatbelt that you’d helped her with felt too tight across her chest, and Annie found herself wishing the ride would be over as quickly as possible. 

She started to space out, losing herself in the sick feeling of being in a moving vehicle, reality slowly starting to shift as it usually did when she was afraid, twisting at the corners until nothing quite felt real. 

Annie’s hands were shaking where she gripped the inside of the car, and the soft, blue-striped fabric of her shirt started to blur where she looked down at it, straight lines twisting into knots as her vision fuzzed. The sense that none of what was happening was _real_ was sinking in, falling down over her like a drift of snow until even your presence beside her seemed off. 

Shivering, Annie tried to focus, tried to draw herself back to reality and away from the panic slowly washing over her, to no avail. 

“Annie. Annie. Are you alright?” Your voice slid through the fog covering her, pressing firm and insistent at the part of her that was so certain she’d drifted away from what was real. “We’re almost there, okay? You don’t look like you’re feeling very well.”

You were worried about her. You were concerned. She was being so obvious that you were picking up on it. Annie felt vaguely sick, humiliated that she needed you to pay so much attention to her well-being. 

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to talk, couldn’t bring herself to break the moment of unreality and force herself back to awareness. Everything was floating, blurred, and it was impossible to pull herself out of the fog that buried her like a wave crashing down. 

The car slowed down, the sick feeling of moving without moving easing up, and while Annie was still looking down, it came to a stop. 

“We’re here, Annie. We’re right on the edge of town, where it shouldn’t be too busy. Do you want to try to get out here, or do you need to rest for a while before we try anything?” You sounded concerned, gentle, and Annie hated herself for needing the reassurance in your voice. 

(Deep inside, she hated herself more for _wanting_ it, for clinging to the soft sounds of someone trying to comfort her like they were the only things still holding her up. It was pathetic, and she couldn’t stop.)

“I. . . I don’t want to be in the car anymore,” Annie forced herself to say, voice unsteady and softer than she knew could come out of her. 

“Okay. That’s perfectly okay. I’ll get the door for you, and we’ll go sit down somewhere.” You slid out of the car, and Annie’s fogged up mind lost track of you for a moment until her door opened, your hand grasping hers with a gentle heat and easing her small, half-limp body out of the car. 

Outside, Annie was faced with buildings unlike anything she’d ever seen, every last bit of the designs wrong and just off enough to make her feel dizzied and sick, confused by the sudden change from her world. 

There were people around, she realized belatedly as she looked around, just a couple in the distance further into town. A stab of panic lanced through Annie at the sight, the sudden, crushing feeling that she’d be recognized, found out, disposed of like the monster she was. 

(She remembered you forgiving her. She took a deep breath. She tried to imagine that there were more people like you in the world.)

“It’s okay, Annie. They aren’t going to hurt you.” You’d seen where she’d been looking, and cut off the panic where it hung. “No one here knows who you are. No one here is going to do anything bad to you.” Your voice was soft, gentle, and Annie found herself clinging to the sound. 

It was sickening, how much she relied on you, but as you eased her away from the car and down onto a nearby bench, she found herself with an iron grip on one of your arms, nails digging into your long sleeves as she tried to find her breath. You were so close. You were so warm. Annie didn’t want to force herself to pull away. 

You sat down next to her, doing nothing to dislodge her hand, and started to rub Annie’s back with your free hand, tracing slow, even circles that sent a stab of familiarity through her. 

This is what you’d done when she’d been terrified, small and afraid and so injured she couldn’t stand on her own.

The motion was familiar, humiliatingly comforting, and Annie sunk into it, losing herself the even movements of your hands, the warmth of your fingers sinking through the thin, soft material of her shirt. 

Eventually, Annie started to calm down, the panic that had had a grip on her chest starting to ease up. You didn’t pull away from her for a second, still whispering soft things as Annie tried to find her breath, still keeping your hand warm and solid against the muscle of her back.

Annie snapped back to herself all at once, reality slipping back into place like a puzzle piece finding its match. Everything cleared up so suddenly it almost made her nauseous, the fuzzy feeling that had been choking her easing away with a jolt, terror falling away from her chest in threads. Annie blinked, trying to orient herself, and forced herself to look around. 

“Feeling better?” you asked, soft as anything with your hand still on Annie’s back, one wrist still caught in her grip. 

Flushing, Annie nodded, taking in the strange buildings around her, the scattered people who paid the two of you no mind. No one was very close, and the town itself had a small town atmosphere that made Annie feel a bit safer, like no one _would_ recognize her even here. 

“Good. Whenever you’re ready, we can try to do something. There’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks over where we can get something to eat, if you want, or we can just walk around. It’s completely up to you.” You were being so nice, so gentle, and Annie could barely take it. You were acting as if she hadn’t just freaked out all over again and made you deal with it, as if she hadn’t just fallen apart over something simple. 

“I don’t. . . I don’t want to go in anywhere. Nowhere with people. Just, j-just walking around would be fine.” Annie felt weak for admitting it, but she couldn’t take much more stress today, not all at once. 

“Okay. That works just fine. We’ll walk around a couple blocks and then go home, alright? You’ll have to go in the car again, but it’ll be to get back home. Nothing bad will happen.” You were so gentle, so kind, it made Annie feel half sick for having to take it all. 

“Okay. I’ll be okay. I’m fine. I can handle it.” What she said was more reassurance to herself than anything, but as Annie stood up, just saying the words made her feel stronger than staying silent. 

You stood up with her, dusting yourself off in a half reflexive motion, but then, you took Annie’s hand in your own, so soft and warm around her own that Annie flinched despite herself.

“Y-You don’t need to–” Annie squeaked, half tempted to tear her hand away from you before she could get attached to the feeling. 

“I want to. I’ll feel better if I know you’re okay.” You squeezed her hand, soft and reassuring, and Annie swallowed her words unable to refuse the kind of gentle closeness that she didn’t have to ask for. 

The two of you started walking, slowly making your way through the streets of the little town, and Annie took in everything around her, every little detail and facet like it was her first time seeing the world. 

In many ways, it was. 

The buildings around her were taller than Annie was used to, made of materials that she didn’t recognize. There were advertisements and banners that she didn’t understand, words on signs that didn’t make the slightest bit of sense, and Annie was reminded all over again how lost she really was. 

Even the colors of things were wrong, the tint of the sky just slightly different than what Annie was used to. Nothing about this world made any sense, it was all completely foreign, and Annie was suddenly, painfully glad that you’d kept her, that she hadn’t been left to figure this place out on her own. She never would have made it, never would have been able to take it. 

Annie was also glad for your hand around hers, a burning hot point of stability and safety in every strange thing that surrounded her. Every so often, you’d give her hand a little squeeze, as if to prove that you were still there, and Annie was sick with herself for how grateful she was for it. 

After walking around almost as much of the town as Annie could handle, going back and forth between empty streets and alleyways devoid of life, Annie felt like she’d had more than enough. 

“Can we. . . go home now?” she asked, hesitantly, half afraid that you’d be unhappy with her for not staying long enough. 

“Of course. Come on, let’s go back to the car.” You smiled like it was nothing, and walked Annie back to the car, holding her hand all the while soft, warm fingers wrapped around her callused ones. You didn’t seem angry, didn’t seem upset, and Annie couldn’t help but feel grateful. 

When you opened the car door for her, Annie felt a stab of fear. She didn’t want to get back into the thing, didn’t want to face the ride home, but she knew it was the only way of getting back. 

Forcing herself, steeling herself, Annie slid back into the car, the door shutting behind her sounding like gunshot. Annie jumped at the sound, a small, nervous twitch starting up near her eye. She felt nervous, uneasy, like all the feelings of before would hit her all over again, and as soon as the car started to move, Annie felt close to panicking all over again. 

But then, you slipped your hand into hers all over again, looking over with a smile so tender Annie felt something in her chest go tight. 

You were looking at her like she was deserving of care, like she wasn’t pathetic for needing the comfort over something so small, and Annie felt all at once like she was close to falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be right here the whole way. Nothing’s going to hurt you.” You brushed your thumb over Annie’s knuckles, gentle and soft-like, and Annie found herself believing you. When you said it, it seemed like everything could be okay, like she really would be alright, and Annie forced away the sting of a feeling that told her she was pathetic for needing it. 

You held her hand the whole way back, warm and soft and stronger than anything Annie had ever known. It felt like you were protecting her, keeping her safe and away from the world outside. 

And Annie trusted you to do it. 

. . . 

Nightmares were something Annie was very familiar with. Ever since she’d been young, she’d had the same dreams of being devoured, torn apart, hunted down for failing her mission and fed to the next carrier of her warrior. The dreams were so much of the same that she’d grown used to them, no longer woke up screaming in a panic from what she saw. 

But now, ever since she’d been with you, Annie’s dreams had become something entirely new. She now knew what it felt like to be a betrayer, to be chased down and torn apart for every last sin she’d committed. 

The faces of the people she’d known were imprinted in her mind, every last look of betrayal, hatred, and vengeance. She’d see what it looked like to be wanted for dead, and those faces refused to leave her head. Annie had dreamed of the same moment every night since she’d been with you, a chilling, haunting dream that followed her for hours after she was awake. 

Blood, pain, the feeling of being close to death. Annie felt herself ripped apart, torn limb from limb by the mouth of a titan. That titan. The titan of someone she’d almost thought she could care about. It was what she deserved, but all she could think was how she _didn’t want to die_. 

Annie felt every wound, every broken bone and crushed bit of flesh on her broken body as she was torn apart by massive teeth. 

All around her, they were watching, the people she’d lived with, ate with, fought beside for four long years. Every one of them was watching her fate with a smile, the familiar expression of satisfaction, of contented joy etched across their faces as she was eaten alive. 

Annie cried for help until her throat was raw, but they all knew. Every one of them knew what a monster she was, and not a one would do anything to save a destroyer of humanity. She struggled, she fought, she writhed and cried and screamed for help, but no one moved. 

Just as her world started to blur, just as she felt massive teeth closing in on her torso, Annie woke up, howling like she was dying and thrashing so hard the blankets were tangled around her ankles like a trap. 

Everything felt _real_ , from the teeth around her to the happiness on her former allies’ faces. She’d died. She’d died in a dream and– and– maybe that wasn’t the dream after all. She could be dreaming now, could have imagined these long weeks of peace in an instant as she was snapped apart by the mouth of the titan that knew her sins and wanted her dead. 

Annie screamed like she really was being eaten, slowly slipping back to reality but unable to _stop_. She curled in on herself, making herself small and tiny and protected by the curve of her spine, scoring long, bloody lines in her own skin as she clawed and scratched at her arms in a panic. 

It felt like she was choking. She couldn’t breathe past the fear, hot and clawing through her chest like she was being eaten from the inside out. 

Scratching at her own throat, Annie cried, tears flowing thick and messy down her cheeks as she fought to gain control of herself. She couldn’t get a breath, couldn’t draw enough air past the ball of terror in her chest, and it only made her panic more, a frantic need to fight setting in. 

Distantly, she heard the door slam open, heard footsteps and a concerned voice from somewhere above her, but Annie couldn’t tear herself out of the fear long enough to pay attention to it.

There was a hand on her back, hot and soft and tracing familiar circles over the fabric of the pink shirt she still wore to bed. There were whispers surrounding her, reassurances and praise that she could only barely make out, the words sounding far away, buried underneath her fear. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so good. Breathe for me, sweetie, you can do it. You’re doing great, you’re gonna be okay.” You were beside her, murmuring soft things and Annie screamed and scratched, trying to keep her hands away from her throat with gentle motions that only made Annie cry more. 

She didn’t deserve this. She shouldn’t _want_ it. 

Slowly, slowly, the terror started to ease, the iron grip on her chest letting up just enough that Annie could get a breath. Her vision slowly cleared, the cold, numb feeling in her limbs started to fade, and your words came through more clearly with every passing moment. 

The soft words, the endearments and praise, as if she was doing something other than breaking down like a child, Annie could barely take it. 

She felt small, fragile, like the wrong thing could break her apart, stripped raw by the terror of the dream. Her whole body felt like an open nerve, spasming at every touch, trying instinctively to flinch away even as the slightly more conscious part of her wanted to press into every comfort. 

You were being so gentle, so kind, it choked Annie up all the more, guilt curling sharp in her chest like she’d almost managed to avoid for the past few weeks. She was bad. She was a monster. You were going to find out and throw her out and throw her away like everyone else who’d ever known what she’d done did as soon as they knew. 

Choking down sobs, Annie tried to replay your words of forgiveness, the way you’d heard every rotten thing she’d done and still looked at her like a broken child instead of a warrior. You weren’t like _them_. 

“You’re doing so good. That’s it, that’s a good girl, Annie, just keep breathing. You’re going to be okay. Nothing here is going to hurt you. You’re safe with me, just relax, everything’s going to be alright.” You kept talking, kept running soothing fingers up and down her back, and Annie almost cried harder for the comfort. It was almost more than she could take, to be coddled so much, treated like something small and precious. 

Eventually, she started to breathe again, air coming easier and easier as the fear in her chest let up, the fear clawing at her windpipe. 

You were still there, still murmurung soft words and treating Annie like she deserved to be babied, taken care of. It was just a nightmare, she thought bitterly. You shouldn’t have to lower yourself to coddling her over something she rightfully should have been able to handle on her own. 

“I’m. . . fine,” Annie said when she could find the air to speak. “It was just a dream; it’s not like you needed to be here.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I want to help you, Annie.” Your hand was still soft on her back, still achingly warm, and Annie wanted nothing more than to lean back into the touch, wonderfully _good_ against her covered skin. 

Annie didn’t say anything, just ducked her head and tried to pretend like this wasn’t happening, like she hadn’t been pathetically weak in front of you for the countless time. The strangest part was that the bite of shame wasn’t there, the hot, angry feeling she’d normally have. 

Instead, all Annie could think of was getting closer to you. You were sitting right there, inches away from her on the bed, and Annie was struck with a thought of climbing into your lap, hiding there safe and small until her dream was so far away it couldn’t do anything more to hurt her. You looked so _warm_ , and Annie had to fight the urge to actually do it. 

(She wanted to be safe. You’d keep her safe. You’d never done anything but take care of her. It would feel so good to be pressed close to someone who wanted her well, and Annie wanted it so badly she–)

Cutting off that thought, Annie rolled over, ignoring the pang she felt when your hand moved away from her back, taking the warmth with it. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” you asked, and Annie’s heart stopped for an instant, breath catching tight in her throat. You couldn’t really mean that, couldn’t be willing to go that far just to take care of her. 

“You d-don’t have to. I probably woke you up already. Just go back to bed and forget it,” Annie growled, trying desperately not to give in and say yes. She wanted you close, wanted to be held safe and small away from the nightmares that she _knew_ would come back, and you were right there, it would be so easy just to forget her pride and give in and let you stay. 

“I know I don’t. If you want me here, I want to help you,” you said, voice so even Annie ached with envy at your composure. “You still seem scared, and if I can help, I want to be here for you.” You said it as if it was nothing, as if Annie wouldn’t be letting herself be weaker than ever. 

Annie took a deep, heaving breath, silently fight with herself over whether or not she could possibly allow you to stay. 

“Fine,” she said, eventually, feeling like the words were being torn out of her. “Just. . . don’t make m-me say I want you here,” she choked out, feeling pathetic for admitting it, even to you. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. I won’t force you to say anything,” you said, gentle and easy, running one soft hand through Annie’s hair in an unbearably tender motion that made Annie’s chest feel tight. You were so nice. You were so good. There was no way this should be happening to her. 

Easing yourself down next to her, you laid down behind Annie’s back, stretching out and inching in close behind her, the heat pouring off of you warming Annie down to her bones. 

Annie held back a pathetic little noise, covering her mouth with her hand to prevent herself from doing something she couldn’t bear to. 

(You were so warm, even inches away, and Annie already felt safer just for having you close. All you’d ever done was protect her. All you’d ever done was keep her safe even from herself, and Annie didn’t know what to do with so much kindness that she could nearly drown in it.)

Rubbing one gentle hand along Annie’s shoulder, your breathing, so close Annie could feel it, set a pace for her to follow, slow and calm and easy enough that it felt like her throat finally opened up. 

After long, easy moments of feeling you so close behind her, of soaking up your warmth and silently basking in the feeling of being guarded from behind, Annie prepared herself to do something she knew she’d regret in the morning. It would be worth it, she thought, to get some peace, to even grasp at the chance of going without any more nightmares. 

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the lingering fear, but Annie rolled over, scooting close and slotting herself into your chest before she could get too nervous to do it, small body cradled close to yours. 

Not able to look at you, Annie buried her face in your shoulder, taking in the same smell that she’d grown so used to accepting as _home_. 

(She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to let herself even think it. She felt so small, so safe, so loved, the most pathetic parts of herself were enjoying every moment of it.)

After a moment of what she could only assume was shock, you wrapped an arm around Annie’s small body, holding her close and safe against your chest. Humming some soft, slow tune, you rubbed circles in her back all over again, and this time, Annie could feel every one. 

Tears were streaking down Annie’s face before she could stop them, slow and hot and weaker than anything she’d let herself feel. 

You were actually willing to do this. You actually wanted to take care of her. Annie had spent the past weeks trying to brace herself for when your kindness finally ended, and yet, she was getting the feeling that it never would. 

As dangerous as it was to trust you, Annie was starting to feel herself hope. Wrapped up small and safe in your arms, it was so hard not to give in, to believe that you really wanted her safe. 

So Annie quit trying. 

For a few moments, she thought, it would be okay to trust you. You were holding her like she was something precious, and Annie felt close to melting into the grasp. 

Somehow, she felt like everything would be okay, like she could really believe that you would take care of her. 

Slipping into sleep, Annie didn’t notice herself curling even close, practically snuggling into your chest as exhaustion overtook her. She was warm, she was safe, and you were treating her like you’d never want to leave. It was more peace that Annie ever could have asked for, more comfort than she could have possibly deserved. 

And Annie, for once, didn’t want to pull away.


	7. How did your debts get paid? Oh, Lazarus, Were you so afraid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY I RETURN. This darn chapter got interrupted TWICE, which is why it took me so long to get done with it ;w; First time I got really badly interrupted while writing and couldn't get my mood back, and second time I thought the document got deleted. . . This chapter seems to hate me. 
> 
> But ANYWAY! Reiner is finally here!! :D This marks the second arc of this little story, and I'm really excited to write for him~~ Hopefully future updates will be more on time >3>

Reiner wakes up to pain, agony arcing through him in every inch of his body he can feel. 

His eyes snap open, but he doesn’t see anything, just a blur of color where the world is supposed to be. He can’t feel most of his body, just bright pain all through where he hopes his limbs still are. 

It’s definitely the most hurt he’s ever been, his muddled, twisted mind thinks, it hurts more than anything he’s ever had to go through before. Reiner tries to curl his fingers, anything to make sure his body is still there, but all that happens is more pain lancing through him hot and fierce. 

There’s a sick, panicked feeling rising up in him, and Reiner knows, he knows that Warriors can heal from almost anything but right now when his whole body feels like it’s on fire, it’s very hard to imagine that he can. 

(What’s left of his body– what’s left of this mangled wreck that he doesn’t even know will be able to piece itself back together–)

His eyes still won’t focus, colors blurring and swirling in front of him, and somehow, not knowing where he is makes everything so much worse. 

Reiner’s breath is coming short, heaving through his broken chest, and all he can feel is utter agony as what’s left of his ribs struggles to expand and contract properly, hurting horribly as torn up flesh fights to move. 

He can’t remember anything other than a vague, fuzzy image of titans closing in on him. It hurts his head to even think about it, the pressure like he’s going to switch all over again closing in like a vice. Reiner doesn’t know what the Soldier would do with this kind of pain, how he’d possibly be able to explain it away, but he has a sick feeling that it would only hurt more to be trapped in a shell of ignorance and blind delusion. 

(He wants to escape to get away to leave it to him and not have to be here while his broken body hurts and hurts and _hurts_.)

The pain is quickly making him nauseous, cold tension sinking into Reiner’s stomach as what’s left of his destroyed body spasms and aches and tries desperately to put itself back together even as it’s bleeding out. 

Vision slowly clearing, Reiner eventually managed to make out a bloody mess next to him that was probably his arm, twisted up at some weird angle that should hurt a lot more than it already did. 

Bile rising in his throat, he swallowed heavily, sight swirling all over again as his mind took in the reality of just how _hurt_ he was. 

Hopefully, no damage had come to his head or the back of his neck. It was still possible to heal, even if it hurt like nothing else, but injuries to those places would be slow and painful, taking more time to heal up than Reiner could afford now that everyone knew who he was. 

The thought of that made Reiner even sicker, the knowledge that he’d never have a place to go back to with everyone he’d known for four long years. The Warrior he was now knew better than to care, but the pieces of the Solder scattered throughout his consciousness _ached_ every time they thought about how none of them would be able to go back. 

He’d never have a place with them again, Reiner knew, everyone he’d known for the best part of his childhood would never look his way again without hatred in their eyes, without wanting him dead. 

But the mission came first. The mission always came first. 

And yet, there was no more mission. He’d failed, they’d all failed, and there was nothing left for them but to go home and face the reality of the country that they’d failed, the people that they’d betrayed. 

(Reiner didn’t want to go back. Half of him was still stuck with the children he’d spent a lifetime being trained to destroy.)

Trying to force himself to move, wounded noises sliding out of his throat as muscles twitched and tugged at broken things, Reiner felt out what parts of him would and wouldn’t work. He had to move, he had to get out of here and keep moving. He had to _get back home_. 

But struggling only sent more agony coursing through him, and within what felt like seconds, Reiner was slumping back against the ground, exhausted from every instant of forcing his mangled self to move. 

He was helpless. He couldn’t get away. If he was caught now he’d meet a fate worse than Annie did, and– and–

Heaving a huge, gasping breath that rattled through shattered ribs, Reiner tried to stay calm. He couldn’t do this if he panicked, would be even more useless if he let the fear take over, and _had_ to stay alert long enough to heal up and get out of the open before someone found him. 

Just as he thought that, just as he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he felt footsteps echoing through the ground next to him, saw the blurred figure of a person standing over him. 

Immediately, Reier kicked into a panic. They’d found him, it had to be, he was going to die and never get home again and he had to get away. 

He struggled and fought to move, torn up body spasming with agony as he forced shredded muscles to work. All Reiner could think of was escape, anything to stay safe and get back home and not wind up like Annie had. 

The person kneeled down next to him, and Reiner’s vision was still too blurry to make them out. He could vaguely hear words, a soft, low voice buzzing through the fog that hung thickly over his consciousness, but he couldn’t quite get his head clear enough to make out the words.

Still panicking, he yanked at things too broken to move, getting what he hoped was still an arm up and behind him to scoot backwards before all the strength left him, sending him collapsing back against the ground. 

Everything _hurt_ , sharp shreds of agony shooting through him with every twitch he made. As desperate as Reiner was to get away, he couldn’t get far with his body still refusing to move properly. 

He was going to die. He was going to be tortured and killed like the traitor everyone knew he really was. There was no escape now. 

Chest heaving a massive, cracked sob, Reiner felt heat trailing down his face. He was terrified, now that he was actually staring down his death, while he was utterly helpless and lying in a bloody, broken heap on the ground. The tears flowed easy and thick, and Reiner couldn’t stop them.

The strength was leaving him quickly, body wearing itself out by struggling and fighting the inevitable, and before he could do anything to stop in, Reiner’s vision started to go grey and even blurrier. 

He was losing consciousness, too tired and beaten to even stay awake, and Reiner prayed he’d wake up again, that he wouldn’t be killed. 

He was going to wake up to something awful, he knew, some military torture chamber or execution or something that he’d wish he’d be dead for, but Reiner was scared. All his life being trained to fight and die and give his life for his home, but now that he faced it, Reiner was so afraid. 

As his vision finally went black, a wave of pure nothingness crashing over him, Reiner felt himself go limp, felt the last of his strength leaving him all at once like it had been drained. The person above him was still talking, and all Reiner could do now was pray that he’d actually have something to wake up to, instead of being killed while he was helpless. 

And everything finally faded away. 

. . .

Annie had been having another average day of peace. She’d woken up with the sun, lazed in bed until she felt like getting up, and made herself a warm breakfast of heavier food than she ever would have been allowed back home. It was nice, like every other day with you, and she was content. 

You’d gone out shortly after she’d come downstairs, explaining that you were going to check the fences on your property after last night’s storm. 

(Annie had spent the night in your room, finally, curled up close where the nightmares couldn’t get her, safe and warm with someone who was willing to protect her like no one else ever would have been.)

She’d settled in with a cup of hot cider, turned on the news, and lounged on the couch for a good forty minutes, perfectly happy to do nothing but watch the people on the screen and avoid thinking about anything that had happened to her. She was still tired, so tired, still vaguely ached from old wounds, and she wanted to rest for as long as she could. 

When you stepped inside, though, Annie immediately knew something was wrong. Your footsteps were heavier, more unsteady as they approached the door, as if you were carrying something that weighed quite a bit, and you slammed the front door open with uncoordinated force. 

Annie was on her feet in seconds, abandoning her cider on the kitchen table and rushing to the door to check on what was happening. 

Images flashed through her head of you being hurt, something having happened to you, you dying and leaving her behind, and Annie forced herself to swallow the spike of panic that rose in her chest, cold and sharp. 

But what Annie found at the door was much, much worse. 

Covered in blood, you were half dragging, half carrying a person, and as soon as Annie saw the man’s face, she knew exactly who it was. 

Reiner. Massive as ever, but thinner and more gaunt than Annie remembered him, covered in blood and pieces of gore, body torn apart like a titan had tried to eat him and very nearly gotten away with it. 

“Annie, can you help me– Annie! Wait!” you called, but Annie had already turned and ran, bolting up the stairs like she was being chased. 

She couldn’t deal with this. She couldn’t have _him_ here, interfering with the happy life that she’d finally found. Reiner knew everything, even the things that she hadn’t dared tell you, and as soon as he let it slip just what kind of monsters they were, all your kindness would disappear. 

Bolting up to her room, Annie slammed the door and locked it behind her, hyperventilating and falling to the bed in a little ball. She was panicking, breath coming short in her chest, and and she couldn’t make herself stop. 

All of the sudden, it was all too real that she was going to lose you. If Reiner woke up– When Reiner woke up, he’d tell you everything, no filter on that mouth of his in all the time she’d known him. He’d let it slip just who she was if he knew she was there, and Annie couldn’t stand to let that happen, not now, not when she was finally safe. 

If you ever found out what kind of monster she really was, you’d never love her again, never look at her with such soft eyes. 

Clawing at her arms, Annie fought to keep control of herself. You weren’t going to come to comfort her this time, no, you were busy with a bloody wreck of a boy who probably needed you more than she did. 

Annie didn’t know what had happened to Reiner to leave him so wounded, and she didn’t want to. She wanted to leave every part of that life behind and never look back, never think about the people who had raised her to be a Warrior ever again. She was happy now, finally, finally happy. 

And she couldn’t bear to ever go back. 

Curling up small and tight on her bed, Annie buried herself in the blankets, heaving painful breaths and trying to make herself small. 

The only thing that she could think of was that she somehow had to get rid of Reiner, somehow had to convince you to make him someone else’s problem. You’d taken care of her, she knew, you were willing to take in broken monsters in the shape of children and offer them your love, and it surely wouldn’t be easy to get you to leave the problem to another. 

Annie swallowed heavily at how she’d just thought of herself as a child. She never would have done that back home, nor back in the military, and that was exactly why she couldn’t bear to lose you. 

You’d made her soft, made her see that there was more to life than fighting, and Annie wanted to viciously drive off anyone who got in the way of the happiness she’d found in that strange peace. 

Already, she had a feeling it was hopeless. You’d been bound and determined to take care of her, and it would likely be no different with him. 

Annie laid there in the bright, quiet room for as long as she could bear, trying to pretend like she was safe within the cocoon of her blankets, the shelter of the room you’d given her, the protection of your home. 

Eventually, though, she started to get uncomfortable, nervous about what could be happening between you and Reiner, whatever you’d decided to do with the broken wreck of a boy that you’d taken in. 

A knock sounded on her door just as she was about to give in and go find you, your soft words breaking the silence of her room. 

“Are you okay? May I come in? I don’t want to bother you, but it didn’t seem like you’re doing so great,” you said, voice soft and painfully gentle. 

Annie dragged herself to her feet, padding over to the door on bare feet to unlock it and meet you. She didn’t want to face this, as the terror spiking hot in her gut made very clear, but she couldn’t stand to go without you any more than she could take Reiner being there in the first place. 

Refusing to make eye contact once the door was open, Annie slid back into her bed, pulling the blankets up over her head so she wouldn’t have to look at you while she was feeling so vulnerable, so worried. 

You sat down next to her on the bed, heaving a sigh that Annie could feel before you found the words to speak again. 

“Was it the blood that bothered you? I know you said you came from. . . a tough place, so I understand if it got to you there,” you said, like it was no big deal that Annie had panicked and run away without helping. 

“No. . . It’s. . . something else,” Annie managed, not wanting to lie to you, but unable to quite get the truth out. She still didn’t want you to _know._

Annie choked on her words, throat feeling tight. You were as patient as ever, sitting there like it didn’t matter that Annie was being so weak. You always were so much kinder than she deserved. 

“Do you want to tell me?” you asked, gently, running a hand over Annie’s shoulder through the blanket. Annie tensed up, feeling like she was going to burst into tears. It wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair it wasn’t _fair_. 

“N-No,” she forced out, tense all over and getting shakier by the second, unable to quite pull herself together through it all. 

“Okay, then I won’t push it. Tell me when you’re ready, okay?” You can take as long as you need to.” You were running the same steady hand up and down Annie’s shoulder, comforting and warm, and so, so tender. Annie felt as if she could barely take so much kindness at once. 

Saying nothing, Annie curled in on herself tighter. She was going to have to face Reiner at some point, she knew, but that didn’t mean she had to do it yet, that she had to give up your love so soon. 

“Just. . . don’t tell that person I’m here,” Annie managed, feeling like the words were glued in her throat, clogging it up with bile.

“Okay, I won’t. Thank you for telling me.” You sounded happy, and it hurt Annie all the more to know that this could end at any time, that if Reiner said the wrong thing about who and what she was, you’d never look at her with such softness again. 

After a few more exchanged words, you agreed to leave Annie to rest. With one last line about how she could come get you if she needed anything, you left her room, closing the door softly behind you. 

Annie stayed laying down, curled up small and safe in her blankets. She could pretend that she’d be okay so long as she stayed there, and that was easier than getting up and facing her new reality. 

All she could hope was that you wouldn’t hate her too soon. 

. . .

When Reiner woke up again, it was to a whole new world of blur around him. He still couldn’t see very clearly, but he appeared to be in a room, now, instead of outside, and that in itself was reason to worry. 

The person before must have moved him, and the only reason Reiner could think of for why they hadn't bothered to kill him was that he was somehow worth more alive. And that probably meant torture. 

Fear clawed its way up Reiner’s throat, heavy and cold like something with claws. He’d spent his whole life being trained to throw himself away, and yet, now that he was actually facing the death and pain he’d only been told about before, it was so much more _terrifying_ than he expected. 

(Panic shot through him, cold and sharp, like a knife to the gut, the edge of it cutting away at what pathetic parts remained of his sanity.)

Reiner groaned, trying desperately to move and get away. He’d do anything to be back alone, where he could hide somewhere and heal safely, without having to worry about torture and pain and everything else that being a captive meant. To get back to Bertoldt, to get back home, he had to do _something_ to get away, to escape with his life. 

He was shaking, Reiner realized, a deep, miserable shudder that sent waves of pain through his beaten, bloody wreck of a body. 

Laying there, unable to move, Reiner had nothing to do but wait for his vision to clear. Everything was quiet, and all he could feel was pain, but at least– at least he wasn’t being tortured quiet yet. 

Fortunately, the only thing that Reiner could be grateful for, the Warrior was still in charge. If he were to switch to the Soldier now, Reiner could only imagine the breakdown that would follow. That part of him had always been weaker, more soft, and being hurt by the same people that the Soldier loved would be almost more painful than having to face the truth. 

Exhausted to his core, Reiner hurt everywhere that he could feel. Every little shake of his worn out body made new waves of pain course through him, mangled muscle and bone protesting every tiny move. 

He was tired, so tired, and he ached to just go back to sleep and pretend like this wasn’t happening. But Warriors didn’t have the option of backing out of their crimes, and the least he could do to keep himself alive was stay awake and figure out what was going on. 

(He wanted to be dead. He didn’t want to have to deal with this anymore. Everything hurt hurt hurt _hurt hurt **hurt**_ and all Reiner wanted was for it just to be over, even if it meant never waking up again.)

So Reiner tried to force himself to relax, easing every part of his broken body out of its tension little by little. He’d hurt less if he could stop shaking, he knew, if he could ease out of the tightness that ran through him like taut wire. There’d be less pain if everything wasn’t pulled tight. 

The feeling was slowly coming back to him, the vague sensation that all of his limbs and extremities were still where they were supposed to be. 

It almost hurt more, actually, being able to feel every inch of skin and flesh that was forcing itself to start to heal, but Reiner was at least grateful that he was mostly intact, instead of limbless and helpless. 

Unfortunately, what wounds he could feel seemed more like giant bite wounds than he ever would have wanted to experience, and Reiner had a sickening feeling that he’d almost been a titan’s dinner in the gap in his memory, that that was what had happened to leave him so broken. 

Everything still _hurt_ , crushed skin and bone oozing blood and sending sick-hot waves of pain up through his nerves. It was painful like nothing had ever hurt before, not in training or fighting or anything else. 

Every breath felt like shattering his ribs all over again, and Reiner couldn’t help but wish he’d pass out again to escape it all. 

But he couldn’t do that. He was a Warrior, and Warriors weren’t allowed to back away from pain. He’d known that this was all going to happen, that there was a very real chance he’d die for his crimes, and there was no going back now. He was already a killer, already earned this pain years ago, and if anything, Reiner knew he deserved it. 

Just as he was approaching something close to lessening the tension coiled within him, the door creaked open, footsteps approached where Reiner was laying helpless, and it was like a switch had been flipped. 

Body instantly going tight, Reiner fought desperately to curl up and _hide_ , trying to force his broken body to listen and move, anything to make himself small and cover the back of his neck before he could be killed. He already hurt so much. He couldn’t take more. Whatever you were about to do to him, Reiner didn’t know if he could keep his sanity through it.

But nothing moved, limbs too mangled to do what they were supposed to, and a low, miserable noise of terror slid out of Reiner’s throat before he could stop it, sounding like something half dead. 

He was shaking all over again, wound so tight everything ached with tension and raw pain, breath coming heavy and short through shattered ribs. Reiner hadn’t been this afraid in longer than he could remember, never felt quite so close to dying while he knew he deserved it. 

(Everything hurt why hadn’t you killed him already why why _why_ did you have to keep him alive and make it all worse. It would have been so much easier if you’d just killed him and been done with it all.)

“Easy, easy, I’m not going to hurt you,” you said, tone more gentle than anyone had used with him in years. Reiner froze up instantly. 

The back of his neck _burned_. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe here. I’m not going to hand you over to anyone.” Reiner still couldn’t see properly, but he could make out your form sitting across from him, leaning in a bit, yet keeping your distance. 

It was obviously a lie. You _had_ to be going to hurt him. If he was here, wherever here was, then it had to had to had to mean that you wanted him dead. Everyone knew by now. Everyone he’d ever known knew that he was either a traitor or a failure or both, and there wasn’t a single safe place for Reiner left in the world save for with the one person who was the same. 

“You’re going to kill me,” was what came out, words sounding like he was choking on blood, thick and heavy in Reiner’s mouth. 

Somehow, Reiner was starting to resign himself to the situation. He was still scared, so scared, but a numb fog was starting to fall over him, making everything seem far away and cold, like it wasn’t happening.

“I’m not,” you said, easy as anything. 

“Yes, you are,” Reiner managed, words still coming out slurred and wrong, too tired to force himself to talk properly. 

“I’m really not. Why would I have saved you if I wanted you dead? You’re still alive, aren’t you? And I haven’t done a thing to hurt you yet.”

Reiner took note of what he could feel of his mangled body. True to your words, nothing seemed any _worse_ than it had when he’d been last awake. “You’re going to torture me, then. Make me _wish_ I was dead.” The words fell out of him like ash, voice cold and sounding half dead already.

“I promise I won’t do that. I want you to be okay. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.” Your tone was still warm and soothing, a painful contrast to how empty Reiner felt. 

(He’d been empty since the beginning, just a shell of a boy who knew nothing but following orders, always wanting to be _more_.)

Reiner didn’t say anything after that, just leaned back against what he was slowly figuring out was a bed and sighed, the breath burning as it scraped over his raw, broken insides. 

His vision was clearing up a little, slowly, and he could now make out that he was in a bedroom, a nice one, painted a pastel green and filled with furniture that looked somehow _off_. He was in a nice bed, blankets thick and soft looking around him, and Reiner was hit with the feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that he belonged somewhere much less comfortable. 

“I just want to tell you one thing,” you started again. “I can’t tell you how I know this, and you can choose if you want to believe me. I promise it’s true, though, and I promise you can trust me.”

Reiner tensed at your serious words, brow pulling tight as he focused his blurry vision on you and tried to think of what horrible thing was coming. 

“There are no titans here. No walls. No Marley. You’re somewhere else entirely, and no one here knows you or wants you dead. You’re safe, really safe, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you.

At your very first sentence, fear shot through Reiner like a wave, so powerful it numbed the pain in every part of him, washing it away under the sheer terror. Breath coming faster, hands clenching in the blankets below him, Reiner started to panic, the numb fog forced away in an instant. 

(You knew. You knew you knew _you knew_ and you were going to kill him. A traitor like him deserved to be dead, but if it hurt any more than Reiner was already hurting, he– he–)

Hyperventilating, a low, panicked noise rose in Reiner’s chest, scraping over his throat and sliding out of him like a death rattle.

His head was starting to buzz with white noise, a dull, ringing sound drowning out the world around him, and Reiner couldn’t stop it. 

He couldn’t breathe– 

He couldn’t move– 

He was going to die–

 

 

 

Reiner snapped back to reality all at once, looking around with blurry vision at his surroundings. They didn’t look anything like what he was used to, nothing like the barracks he’d spent the last four years in. 

There was a person sitting next to him, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes, and Reiner was about to say something when the pain hit him, crashing down on him like a wave. 

It _hurt_ like nothing he’d ever experienced. It hurt like what he imagined being chewed on by a titan would feel like, all raw, aching pain and twisted up flesh. Reiner groaned, curling in on himself as much as he could manage, heaving a thick, rattling breath from between broken ribs. 

His memory was fuzzy, like something was blocking it, and Reiner abruptly realized through the pain that he couldn’t remember anything that had happened since– since waking up in the barracks who knows how long ago. After that, there’s a big gap of _nothing_. 

“H-Hey. . .” he choked out, looking over at you with thinly veiled panic quavering in his voice. “Where am I? Where’s Bertoldt? Why am I here?”

Your face did something funny, scrunching up like you were somewhere between confused and worried, but you answered anyway. 

“You’re in my house. I found you hurt in a field on my property, so I helped you. I don’t know who Bertoldt is, and you’re here because I wanted to help. It’s safe here, and whatever hurt you isn’t going to come back.”

Reiner sighed in relief at that, collapsing back against the soft bed. So he was safe. The only thing he could assume that had happened to him was a titan attack. . . maybe he’d hit his head, and that was why he couldn’t remember anything? That was something that happened to people, right? It had to be, because Reiner couldn’t think of anything else. 

A wave of exhaustion hit Reiner just as he was about to say something else, and his mouth slipped shut. He was breathing heavily, choking on air, and he still hurt like his whole body was on fire. 

“It’s okay,” you soothed, reaching out a gentle hand to brush over Reiner’s shoulder. “You can rest if you need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Th-Thanks. . .” Reiner managed, feeling more worn out by the second. 

“I’ll leave you to sleep, okay?” you continued. “Rest up for a while, and we can talk when you feel better. I’ll be back to check on you in a couple hours, so don’t worry about how long you sleep.” You smiled at him, strained, but gentle, and Reiner tried to force a grin back. 

You stood and left the room after that, and Reiner was left alone, laying in a strange bed in a strange place, so hurt he felt like he was half dead, aching everywhere, and unable to remember a thing. 

He should be more afraid, should be desperate to figure out where Bertoldt and Annie were, why he couldn’t remember anything from who knows how long. Whatever had happened, it was the most hurt Reiner could remember being, and that alone was cause for concern. 

The only thing Reiner could think of was that a titan had gotten to him, chewed him up then dropped him somewhere strange. But that didn’t explain everything, and Reiner’s head was starting to hurt more and more the longer he tried. He wanted to know, wanted to understand why he was somewhere so new and strange. 

But the exhaustion was weighing him down like a stone, and Reiner could barely think to be afraid. He was tired, so, so tired, and it would be so easy just to obey you and sleep for a little bit. It couldn’t hurt, right? You said he probably should get some sleep. 

Reiner allowed his eyes to close, tried not to think about what could be happening. He could worry about it when he woke up. 

Somehow, he didn’t think about how foreign your gentle touch had felt.


	8. You restless son, You ribbon winner, Did everything so they could see,  Did it turn out right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I RETURN! O-O I'm exhausted from school and life stuff, but I _promise_ that I won't be giving up on any fics! :D I'll always be back to write more eventually, even if it takes me a while to get there sometimes~ Anyway, thank you all for your patience! I'm super glad that I finally got this chapter done, even if it is 1 AM and I'm so tired I can barely stay awake. . . I'm definitely still super invested in making things better for the titan kids, even if it takes me a while to write it!

Reiner woke up to darkness, the world seemingly closing in on him from all sides. The immediate thought that he’d been buried alive entered his mind, and he laughed bitterly, a hollow, rough sound, if only to dismiss the silence that hung in the dark room like a heavy cloth. 

The first thing he did, now that he was sure that the Soldier was gone, was take note of where he was and what was around him. 

He was still in the bed. The blankets were still soft against his skin. It was night, and only the faintest amount of light was seeping into the little room, but he could still feel what was nearby. Insect noises could be heard faintly from outside, their familiar chirping the one thing so far that was the same as back home. He still hurt, pain still at home in his limbs and chest. 

Slowly, his injuries were healing, the familiar, stinging feeling of flesh knitting itself together faster than any human was meant to occupying the majority of Reiner’s mind that  _ wasn’t  _ on the verge of panic. 

He could only barely remember what had happened after he slipped, after he’d panicked and backed out of the situation in the only way he could, and worry was a cold stone in Reiner’s stomach. The Soldier could have done anything, said anything, and all without knowing what he did. 

The only comfort was that the Soldier didn’t know the truth. 

Spitting blood out over his lips, swallowed back when he was considerably less whole than he was now, Reiner coughed painfully.

Reiner felt shattered, lost. There wasn’t a single part of him that knew what he was doing or what would happen next. It was the first time since he could remember that he didn’t have a mission to follow. 

At the thought of the mission, something sharp tugged at the inside of Reiner’s chest. He’d failed, they’d all failed, and all they’d accomplished was killing countless people who would never know that three monsters had been sent to wipe them out. All three of them had nothing left, now, and with Annie missing and Reiner waiting to be killed, Bertoldt had no one left. 

Bertoldt, shy, nervous Bertoldt, was now left all alone to either finish the mission by himself, die trying, or go home and face failure.

Even Reiner knew that there was no chance for only one of them to handle things, and in a sickening realization, the truth that he’d abandoned his best friend to die clawed its way into his head. 

(It didn’t matter that he’d never wanted this. He was  _ somewhere  _ and Bertoldt was all alone and Reiner would die before ever seeing him again.)

A long, miserable breath left him, sadness and guilt crawling up Reiner’s throat like crawling little things digging in their legs. It was all his fault, now. He was supposed to take care of the other two, be the brave one, and instead, all that had happened was that he’d failed too. 

Pain radiating through him inside and out, Reiner laid there in the dark, listening to insects outside, the sound of his own breath closer. He was starting to feel distant again, like he could slip at any second. 

Maybe it would be better, he thought, for the Soldier to take over and stay there. He wouldn’t know any of this, would only be confused when they killed him, but at least Reiner himself wouldn’t have to live with the guilt anymore, live with the knowledge that he’d failed the only purpose he had. 

Reiner existed to be a warrior. That had been his whole life for as long as he could remember, and without it, perhaps he would be better off dead. 

One of his hands clenched in the soft blankets, crushed fingers finally starting to cooperate. Reiner gritted his teeth, cursing the fact that he had this choice to begin with. It would have been easier if you’d just killed him. 

There was a dream like feeling in the air, as if Reiner was the only person in the world. In the dark, in the silence, it almost felt like he’d never have to face the world again, and even when he opened his eyes, Reiner was left with the sense that he was, for once, totally alone. 

Counting his breaths, trying to distract himself, Reiner felt himself slowly starting to slip once again, the Soldier sliding back into control. 

With no one there and nothing to worry about but escaping the pain and guilt, Reiner allowed it. He stayed where he was, breathed slowly, didn’t fight it, and within a matter of minutes, the Warrior was gone. 

Reiner opened his eyes, and saw nothing but blackness. Everything still hurt, but he appeared to be in the same place. He had the feeling that he’d been dreaming, a lingering sense of thinking about something bizarre hanging over him, and Reiner almost laughed at the fact that he could be having weird dreams even when his body felt like it’d been torn apart. 

The pain was worse than training, worlds worse than sore muscles and scrapes, and yet, Reiner felt like he hurt considerably less than he had just a few hours before. His fingers twitched. He took a deep breath. 

At least he was finally safe. You seemed like a nice person, and even though he was painfully confused, huge gaps in his memory, Reiner could at least recognise that he was safe here with someone who wanted to help. 

Even so, there was panic rising in his throat, drowning him in worry, with the idea of every little thing that could have gone wrong. 

Not knowing where Bertoldt was, if he was safe or hurt or even killed, had Reiner feeling like he was going to be sick. Bertoldt had been there for him since back in their home village, and Reiner couldn’t– didn’t want to think of what life would be like without his best friend beside him. 

(Bertoldt had to be safe, had to be okay. Reiner couldn’t live without someone to depend on him, without the person he’d spent years with, without the last thing he had to remind him of his home.)

There was the strangest feeling hovering just inside Reiner’s head; a sense of  _ guilt  _ weighing him down like a stone in water. 

He couldn’t tell where it had come from, what he was meant to be feeling even worse about, but the best thing his tired, dizzy mind could supply was that it had something to do with Bertoldt. It would make sense that he felt like shit over being all alone, but that didn’t seem quite right. 

Well, it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it, exhausted and wounded as he was. The only way to get through this would be to focus on getting better, getting stronger, and fixing the problems in front of him when he got there. That would at least be easier than sitting around worrying, and Reiner knew he couldn’t stand not doing something to  _ fight.  _

(Never mind that his injuries already seemed better than they had just hours ago, never mind that he’d seemed to be able to move better already.)

Shaking his head as much as he could, trying to dislodge the thought that something was wrong, Reiner forced the worry out of himself. He was safe for now, and that was all that had to matter to him. 

Sleep always did a person good, they said, so Reiner laid back and closed his eyes, ignoring the persistent feeling that he should be afraid. He hurt, still, pain a living thing eating him up from the inside out, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t take, couldn’t endure if it meant finding Bertoldt soon. 

Reiner always had been the tough one between them. 

Thinking about that made something sharp and hot sting in Reiner’s chest, stabbing through him like– like– something he could just barely remember, something just outside of the fuzzy way his head always felt when he was the one who couldn’t keep track of things right. 

Exhaustion hit Reiner in a wave, all the thinking finally tiring him out beyond what his battered body could take, and within moments, he was shutting down like a switch had been pressed to force it. 

Heaving long, shuddering breaths through a chest that feels like it’s shattered where it counts, Reiner feels himself falling into sleep. 

He’s half out before he knows it, eyes shutting even though it doesn’t make much difference in the dark, body growing distant and far away as his thinking parts start to slow down. It’s easy. It hurts less. 

Reiner accepts it. 

 

. . . 

 

At four in the morning, Annie wakes up, breathing heavily. She’s had another nightmare, nothing unfamiliar, and there’s a dark feeling settled in her chest that she’s far more used to than she’d ever want to be. 

It’s dark in her room, warm from the night air outside. 

She rolls over, curls up small and safe, inhales the familiar scent of your laundry soap, and tries to relax. Even though– though she’s spent a couple nights close to you, the only place where the guilt can’t hurt her, it still feels too pathetic to go to you for every little thing. 

(The very idea that she’d rely on someone for  _ anything  _ is a new one, one that almost hurts to think about, for all her training back then.)

Before long, her thoughts have wandered back to Reiner, the boy she’s known for over a decade, a bloody wreck of a barely concealed monster passed out in the bedroom next to hers, under your care. 

A sick little part of Annie hopes that he dies there. 

Temptation getting the better of her, Annie pulls herself to her feet, straightens the soft, pink shirt around her pale legs. She feels the cool wood under her feet, hears the sounds of insects chirping ceaselessly outside, and if it wasn’t for what she knew about  _ him,  _ it would feel peaceful. 

So Annie pads across her room, opens her door with a quiet creak. You probably won’t wake up, and even if you do, she can make an excuse. 

Even for a titan shifter, Reiner was hurt badly, all blood and gore when she saw him last, so Annie isn’t worried when she slowly presses the door to his room open. He’s sleeping, she’s more than sure of it. 

Of course, Annie herself knows that the kind of sleep when one’s body has been pushed to the very limit and back is more like being dead. She had plenty of that back when she was still training, and her chest aches at the thought of those days, at the thought of what it was like to live that way.

(Broken ribs ache like fingers on her lungs. Losing too much blood makes her float with the clouds. Only the back of her neck  _ burns. _ )

She’s gotten too used to you to want anything else, it seems. 

Reiner is asleep where Annie thought he’d be, eyes closed, rough features screwed up into something like pain. He looks smaller than Annie remembers, slimmer, like something has ate away at him until there wasn’t much left of the person Annie used to know. His hair is longer and shaggier, and it makes him look young and small where he lays. 

Staying by the door, Annie takes a moment to stare, to hate, to wish that he’d never appeared and ruined her fragile piece of safety. 

But then she thinks of Reiner, just a little older than her, fresh from his Warrior for the first time. She thinks of him, exhausted, but beaming, even as blood drips down his face. She sees the joy on his face when it was confirmed that he was allowed to be part of their mission. 

Annie would never think that she’s innocent. No matter what you say, she’s done far too many horrible things to ever be without blame. And yet, looking at Reiner now, she can almost see how all you see in her is a  _ child _ . 

(He looks so young. Younger than she ever thinks of herself to be.)

Breathing in deep, Annie takes one last look at Reiner’s face, gaunt and thin and everything children should never have to be. 

It hurts, somehow, to see the boy she’s known for the majority of her life laying there like his existence could so easily slip away. It’s hard to look at him, and Annie finally lets herself think that she doesn’t want him to die. 

So she closes the door. She slips down the stairs. She settles herself in front of the television, turns the volume on low, and lets her mind wander. It’s hard to face this. It hurts to think of all that Reiner could ruin for her here. And yet, she  _ wants  _ to believe you and what you promise her. 

You’ve offered her unconditional love, told her that you’d forgive her for anything she’d ever done, and Annie wants to hope that it’s true. 

For all you’ve given her, for how patient you’ve been, for all the ways you’d accepted everything she’d done wrong, Annie, just barely, in a hesitant whisper of a thought, believes that you mean what you say. Or at least, she’s starting to hope that she can believe your words. 

Darkness slowly turns to light while Annie lets her mind wander, and before long, she hears your footsteps upstairs, most likely going to Reiner’s room to check on him. It doesn’t bother her nearly as much as it should. 

Somehow, Annie feels like everything will be okay. 

 

. . . 

 

Reiner wakes up as himself, with a person in the room. 

You’re sitting beside the bed he’s still laying on, illuminated by the morning sunlight filtering in from outside, and for just a moment, Reiner can pretend like he’s not going to be tortured any second now. 

He closes his eyes again, heaves a long, rattling breath that makes things in his chest  _ ache,  _ and stays still save for the trembling in his limbs. 

“Good morning,” you say softly, as if you don’t know everything, as if he’s not going to have pieces cut off until he tells you what you want to know about Marley and the mission. Reiner’s mouth goes even drier than before; his teeth clench. He’s anticipating pain with every second. 

“Are you healing?” you ask, and Reiner knows it’s only so you can judge if he’s stable enough for the pain to begin all over again. 

He’s scared. His heart is beating triple time in his battered chest. 

But Reiner nods anyway, knowing that there’s no getting out of this now. He did the crime, now he has consequences to face, and even though he feels half like begging, he knows that there’s no going back now. 

(It wasn’t his fault he didn’t want to do it he doesn’t want to hurt anymore he didn’t know better none of them did none of us–)

“That’s good.” Your voice is gentle, and you seem kind; the sort of thing that Reiner would be happy about if he was somewhere else. Were someone else. It’s hard to separate the two, anymore, but he can see the Soldier grinning and taking every soft word personally. 

Instead, Reiner tastes blood in his mouth, feels metallic slickness drying against his teeth. You look at him for a moment, like you’re worried, and he wonders who will be the person to force the information out of him. 

“You’re going to have to torture me,” Reiner says abruptly. He can’t stand not knowing. He can’t stand sitting here and waiting for it to start. 

“Why would I do that?” you say, tone relaxed and patient. 

“Because I’ll never be able to tell you if you don’t,” he replies, voice a cracked, broken thing. “You might as well hurt me and make it faster.” He’s done for; there’s no use in putting it off now. There’s no use fighting. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. You haven’t done anything wrong, and even if you had, I don’t like hurting people.” There’s something tight and tense in your voice, like you’re navigating a minefield. In some ways, Reiner can imagine that his mess of a head is like one. 

“Then what am I here for?” he snaps, or tries to. His voice comes out hollow and weak instead of angry, like he can’t muster any more strength. 

“I don’t know. That’s up to you. I’ll help you for as long as you want, but after that, it’s your choice what you do.” Frustration crawls up Reiner’s limbs. You’re hiding something; you have to be, and he can’t stand it. 

Guilt feels like a living thing in Reiner’s chest. He’s done so much wrong, hurt so many people, and you’re still being kind to him. On one hand, he knows,  _ knows  _ that you’re just putting off torturing the guilt out of him. On the other, you feel so painfully genuine, and it hurts all the more to think that you could actually be offering this kindness to someone like him. 

(The wall is kicked down. People scream from what feels like miles away. Reiner is burning, steam pouring from his mouth like foul smoke.)

But you know already. You told him as much. Reiner is too  _ tired  _ for panic but his heart makes a good attempt at it, pounding in his chest so fiercely it feels like it could burst. At least that kind of end might hurt less. 

“You– You told me–” Reiner pauses, talking finally getting the best of him. He coughs up old blood, running like tar down his chin and over his teeth. “Y-You said that there are no titans here. . . that means–” Another wracking cough. “That means you know who I am.”

Instead of answering, you grab a cloth from the bed table nearby. You start to wipe the blood off Reiner’s face, painfully gentle. 

The touch is the softest thing Reiner can remember, and something painful throbs in his chest. You’re making it worse. It will only hurt  _ worse  _ when this kindness turns to cruelty in the end. 

Just having someone so close makes breath tear through Reiner’s shattered chest. It feels like you’re going to hurt him, like at any second you’ll pull out something sharp and tell him that it’s time to talk. He can only imagine what the fear in his eyes looks like to you. 

“I do have some idea of who you are,” you say, and Reiner knew it, he knew that you were just  _ pretending  _ to be nice until– until– 

“But,” you interject, cutting off Reiner’s thoughts where they churn. “That doesn’t mean I want to hurt you. You don’t have to tell me anything. All I’m here to do is help, and you can choose what you let me know.”

In a bitter, painful way, it’s almost funny that you’re sitting there offering him a choice. Reiner never had a choice in what happened. None of them did. Even as guilt slowly ate the three of them alive, they had no  _ choice  _ but to keep pressing forwards to complete the mission, destroy the enemy, do this or that or anything to make sure they weren’t thrown away. 

Reiner wasn’t given a choice, even when it meant throwing away everything that made him human in one fell swoop. 

He’s scared. He’s so scared. You’re not like everyone he’s ever met; no orders, no missions, no way to know what he’s supposed to  _ do _ . You’ve been nothing but nice to him, and a pathetically hopeful part of Reiner prays that it will stay that way. You haven’t done a thing to hurt him yet. 

(And oh, Reiner doesn’t want to die.)

Minutes pass, quiet, only the sound of Reiner’s ragged breathing filling the air. You’re patient, sitting there without a word, and Reiner thinks that this might be even harder to bear than if you’d been interrogating him. 

Giving up, Reiner sighs like the life is leaving him, hands shaking where his fingers are coiled like steel in the blankets. 

Reiner hurts like nothing else. Outside, his broken body is sending signals of pain up through him with every breath. Inside, his chest burns like there’s a fire eating up what’s left of his heart. You’re looking at him like he didn’t do anything wrong, and that comes close to hurting the worst. 

He collapses back against the blankets, fight draining from him like water, like blood. “I don’t want you to know any of it. . .” he mutters miserably, heart thumping in his chest and blood draining down his throat. 

“And that’s okay. I don’t ever have to know more than you want me to,” you smile, and Reiner’s chest twists painfully. “How about we focus on helping you feel better? We can worry about the knowing things or not knowing things later, when you aren’t in so much pain.”

Reiner’s head is throbbing, pain closing in on him from all sides. The stress is getting to him. He doesn’t want to be there.  _ Anywhere.  _

“Fine,” he sighs, so tired he can’t think for anything else. 

You say a few more things, offer to bring him some food, but Reiner is slipping. The world is starting to feel less real, less connected to the bloody wreck that is his body, and when the ceiling starts to blur around the corners, Reiner knows that something is starting to go wrong. 

His head’s been broken for a while, he knows, even years ago when Bertoldt first started catching him slipping into the Soldier. 

But that doesn’t mean it makes any more sense when Reiner gets the distinct feeling of floating, hanging weightless like in Maneuver Gear. He blinks, tries to make the walls go back to where they’re supposed to be. 

It doesn’t work, and Reiner is left squinting at motion. 

There’s a nauseous, light feeling creeping over him, like fear that’s jumped straight past the point of terror. A sick sense of dread is coiling in his stomach, heat still burning through his chest, mind unsteady. 

Interrupting you, Reiner starts to laugh, a sick, hollow sound. It suddenly seems very fitting that this is all some kind of awful dream, that he’ll wake up in the barracks with Bertoldt just feet away and every second of horror that he’s been through will be imagined and far away. 

“I’m not going back, am I?” slides past Reiner’s teeth, so quiet and weak it sounds distant to even his own ears. 

A hand grabs his, soft and warm and so  _ solid  _ that Reiner feels it through his skin. A thumb brushes over his bruised, broken knuckles. 

“I don’t know,” you say, so gentle it almost hurts. “But you’ll be alright. You’re strong, I can tell; you can make it through this. You’re going to be okay,” and no one has talked to Reiner so kindly in  _ years.  _

There are tears streaking down Reiner’s face before he can stop them, some combination of fear and stress and shock finally breaking him down. You’re grounding him, pulling him back to reality with one searing point of contact on his skin, and it reminds him so much of Bertoldt that– that– 

Gritting his teeth, Reiner cries, stifling huge, heavy sobs with every bit of restraint that he has left in him. This is what he did for Bertoldt. This is what they did for each other, and it  _ hurts  _ all over again like a fresh wound. 

But Warriors don’t get to cry; Warriors don’t get to mourn, and Reiner forces the feelings down as quickly as they well up in his chest. 

You sit there with him for longer than Reiner can keep track of, holding his hand and breathing a steady rhythm in the silent air. It’s distracting, wonderfully so, and Reiner counts your breaths and strokes of your thumb against his calloused skin until he can think of something else. 

Eventually, he calms down, easing back into some dull state of terror that is becoming disturbingly familiar. 

“Good job,” you praise, and Reiner feels almost sick. “Thank you for calming down. You did amazing getting through that.”

(No one ever praised him like this. Not for becoming a Warrior. Not for choosing the mission above all else. Not even for throwing away what scraps were left of his humanity to pretend to be their friend through it all.)

“How about I get you something to eat now? I would imagine that you’d feel better after you’ve eaten something, right?” You’re smiling. You’re hand is still in his, and when Reiner nods limply, too tired to protest, all you do is reward him with one more stroke over his raw skin. 

You get up, and your hand slides away from his. Reiner, he realizes with horror, misses the warm, grounding contact already. 

A few minutes pass, and Reiner closes his eyes. He’s tired, so tired, exhausted beyond fear or panic or anything but emptiness. It feels like his insides have been scraped out with no feelings left behind. 

When you return, it’s with placing something warm in his lap, the rich smell of food reaching his breath. It takes a minute of blankly staring at the bowl in front of him, but Reiner starts to realize that he’s hungry. 

Mechanically, the same as forcing himself to eat even after he figured out what he’d done to the world, Reiner lifts the spoon and takes a bite. 

There’s more salt, more flavor in one mouthful than there’s been in anything Reiner’s eaten in years. He belatedly notices that he’s eating some kind of stew, hot in his mouth and filling him from the inside with warmth. 

It’s easier to eat, then, and Reiner manages to move each spoonful to his mouth without retching or freezing up. He starts to feel a little warmer with each bite, heat sinking into him and filling up the cold places that makes up his limbs and insides and chest. It feels better, just like you said, and Reiner’s exhaustion feels a bit more like merely needing rest. 

The food is gone before he wants it to be, spoon scraping the empty insides of the bowl, and already, the warmth starts to fade. 

Even though he still aches everywhere he can feel, even though he still feels paralyzed with terror and exhaustion and guilt, Reiner feels a little bit better, a little bit closer to something like his usual self. 

(As if his “usual” self wasn’t nothing more than a pathetic facade created to hide how frightened he really had been, all that time.)

You say something about getting some rest, about sleeping as long as he needs to, and Reiner doesn’t have the energy to argue. He sighs again, heavy and thick with a rattle through his chest, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t notice when you slip silently out of the room. 

Reiner is tired, so tired, and it’s easy for sleep to come. 

 

. . . 

When you come downstairs, for the second time after grabbing a bowl of last night’s leftovers, Annie slowly sits up at her place on the couch. She’d settled into a nap, sleeping restlessly downstairs instead of getting any closer to the person she knows is in the room so close to hers. 

You flop down next to her, sighing and burying your face in your hands. Understandably, Annie takes it to mean bad news. 

“How’d it go?” she asks, deadpan, unsure if she should push. 

“Not good. He’s bleeding a lot still, I’m pretty sure he’s dissociating, and he acts like he thinks I’m going to hurt him at any second. . .” You trail off, and Annie easily catches the unspoken words that hang in the air. 

Just like her, back before she’d started to trust you. 

Annie swallows, chokes down fear that tries to crawl up her throat. She’s safe. You’re safe. She can say whatever she wants to you. 

“We heal slower when we’re stressed,” she mutters, “He’ll be okay. As soon as he calms down a little, the wounds should start fixing themselves. It’ll hurt, but I’m pretty sure it won’t do any lasting damage.”

“Thank you,” You smile at her, a sad, tired thing that makes the parts of her that still fear for her place here twist with fear in her chest. 

Annie is still fairly sure that she doesn’t care too much what happens to Reiner. She still doesn’t like the idea of him intruding on the peace she’s found here, but even so, it’s starting to seem like you’re as invested in him as you were in her when she was hurt and afraid. 

(It’s that kindness that opened her up to you in the first place.)

“He acts so afraid of me,” you continue. “It’s heartbreaking. He’s just a child, just like you, and he asked me when I was going to  _ torture  _ him.” You’re looking down, a dark, unhappy tone heavy in your voice. 

You lean over, just slowly enough that Annie has time to pull away, and ease her into a hug, her chin resting against your chest. 

It’s warm, arms around her in the kind of affection she grew up never knowing, and Annie trembles a bit in your hold. You’re the first person to touch her like she’s a soft, fragile thing that deserves your care. 

For all she’d been afraid, for all she’d doubted that you could really forgive her, it’s easy to relax into your arms, taking a deep breath and allowing herself to trust. Somehow, Annie is certain that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her while she’s relaxed and weak around you. 

“I don’t know what you poor kids have been through,” you whisper, and Annie closes her eyes. “But I promise that it’s not going to happen again. Both of you. You have a safe place now, I promise.”

You say it like you’re certain, like you could really assure the both of the, that titans and walls and soldiers would never come back. 

It’s worryingly easy for her to believe it. 

You pull away eventually, standing up and explaining that you’ll be in your work room for a bit, asking her to tell you if she hears anything from upstairs. Annie nods silently, curling back up on the couch. 

She should be ashamed, should hate herself for ever  _ needing  _ anything from you, but Annie misses the attention already. 

The way you treat her is like nothing she’s ever experienced. You act like she’s a child, something small and frightened instead of the Warrior she’s always had to be. It’s strange, but at this point, Annie is so used to the kind words and easy forgiveness that she’d never want anything else. 

Her mind wanders to Reiner being treated the same way. He’d always been the sort to long for praise, after all, and it’s easy to imagine what it would be like for him to be subjected to the same sort of kindness. 

Somehow, imagining the stupid, brave little boy from her childhood being treated like the child you seem to think he is isn’t a bad thought. 

Perhaps this won’t be such a bad thing for either of them. 


	9. Swim until you can't see land. Are you a man? Are you a bag of sand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm definitely not giving up on this fic!! :D Updates are taking me forever these days because of college and mental health issues, but hey, I'm still working! I don't intend to give up on this fic or any other, even if I am pretty slow with new chapters. A huge thank you to everyone who's waited for this update, and an even bigger thank you to everyone who will be here for future chapters! I have a solid plan for this story, and even though it's been almost a year since I started it– or maybe because of that, I feel more attached to the characters and invested in their story than ever. :)

There’s light around him, shining through past his eyelids. Reiner opens his eyes, and it’s still daylight. Or maybe it’s daylight again. He’s either slept for a while, or not long at all, and there’s no way for him to tell. 

He shudders, miserable and aching all over, and thinks for one sick little instant that he might rather be dead. The pain is coming soon enough anyway, since you know– you know what kind of monster he is, and exactly what you intend to do with that knowledge Reiner is well aware. No matter how many times you say that you’re only here to help, it’s just a prelude to blades carving under his skin. 

A deep breath makes his ruined ribs creak, every part of him an agonizing, raw nerve. Reiner isn’t sure if he’s going to make it through this. He knows he’ll live long enough for you to start hurting him, at least. It’s the question of if he’ll survive the fear when that time comes. 

You fed him. You fed him and wiped the blood off his face and told him he did good for managing to do something as simple as pull himself back from the verge of panic. 

Already, you’ve been kinder to him than anyone, anyone Reiner can remember that didn’t know some awful other part of him that never told the truth. You didn’t look at him like he deserved to die, even as Reiner is sure that you feel that way deep inside. 

If you know what he’s done, how could you not?

He’s shaking all over again, shuddering like a leaf in a storm, unable to stop no matter how much he hates himself for showing the weakness. He half expects to be slapped for showing fear, even as he knows there’s not a soul in the room but himself, quaking in terror and struggling to breathe. 

It’s so pathetic he could laugh. Here he is, the Armored Titan, bloodied and beaten and trembling like a child, terrified of his fate. 

Reiner groans through his teeth, and it sounds like something dying. He squirms as much as the broken parts of himself will allow, and tries to judge how much he’s healed. 

The answer isn’t much. He can move his arms, lift them enough to meet his head, but that isn’t saying a lot. The bones still ache deep down when he so much as twitches. His legs still feel somewhere between numb and the center of all the agony in his body. Something in his torso is probably shattered, organs crushed in a way that he’s never quite had to live through before. This is what it feels like to be chewed on by a titan. 

Reiner tries not to think about how many people he’s doomed to the same sort of pain. 

But Reiner breathes, and lays there. He’s alive, still. You haven’t stabbed him or hit him or anything but offer him food and talk like you don’t intend to cut him open. He’s been safe, so far. 

And then the door opens. You step inside, slow and so obviously trying not to startle him. Reiner grits his teeth and resists the urge to scream, to hide. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, an insistent, painful reminder that he’s still alive to experience this. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” You smile. You sit down across from him. Reiner thinks he really might scream. 

He wants to close his eyes, but panic forces them open, fixes his gaze on you in a way he can’t deny is instinct. It’s awful, like he’s some kind of wild animal instead of a person, a man. As much of a person as he may not be. Your face is held tight in a way that means worry. Reiner can’t imagine what for, but a look like that being directed at him is so surreal that he almost laughs all over again. 

His emotions are a wreck, careening all over like he’s swinging on broken maneuver gear. Whether he’s terrified, resigned, furious, or some horrible combination of the three Reiner doesn’t know. Every time he thinks his broken mind has finally settled on something, he flips right back over to a person who has no idea how to cope. 

You’re still looking at him. He hasn’t given you an answer, Reiner realizes, and he can’t find room around the breath held tight in his chest to care. There’s no reason left to worry about being friendly. 

“I’ll be getting you more to eat later,” you continue, as if it doesn’t matter that Reiner is laying there, paralyzed with a sick sort of fear. “Not quite yet, ‘cause I want to make sure your stomach can take it, but soon. I was thinking that for now, getting that blood off of you would do you some good. Would that be alright?” 

There’s nothing close to malice in your eyes. Reiner’s heart thuds like a titan’s footsteps in his chest, breath quickening. 

Every word you say to him is  _ wrong.  _ He can’t quite decide if he wants to scream at you to kill him already, or curl up and cry and hope that you won’t. He hurts, hurts like he never imagined a person could. 

“I don’t c-care.” The words slip out of his teeth like things with legs, crawling free. The heady sense that none of this is real is settling over him again, and Reiner wouldn’t be surprised if he switches back to the Soldier soon. Whatever he’s saying to you obviously hasn’t made you want to hurt him any more. It might even be better that way, to not have to think about the reasons why he’s here, bloodied and so scared he could  _ break.  _

“Okay, that’s good. Here. I’m going to help you stand up, and we’re going to make it to the bathroom, alright? I’ll have to touch you, and considering your wounds, it might hurt.” You’re still so gentle, talking to him like a child instead of the monster that you both know he is. 

You lean forwards, and ease him into a sitting position, ignoring the way he flinches at the movement, shudders at the touch as breath claws tight in his lungs. 

Reiner is sitting up, then, and the world is spinning. Everything feels a few inches too far away, and even the touch of your hands against his shoulders barely registers. The next thing he knows, you’re easing him to his feet, slow enough that the nausea settling in his gut doesn’t spike. 

His legs won’t take much. Reiner’s pretty sure there are more than a few things broken in them. He can take the pain, but his body will only stand up under so much, only cooperate til a breaking point. 

But you get an arm under his shoulder, wrapping around his back, and let him lean his weight onto you. You don’t complain at how heavy he is, at the blood that’s surely soaking into you, and Reiner tries not to shake. You can feel it, this close, feel just how weak and  _ useless  _ he is like this. 

Still feeling distant and cold, Reiner faintly realizes that he’s letting you move him, going with you step by agonizing step. 

He feels past the point of panic, somehow. Like nothing could get worse– worse, bad enough to make him crack any further. He’s numb and aching, vision fuzzy, agonizingly thankful that you won’t see him cry. Reiner thinks of what it will feel like when you’ve decided that you want information, when it finally comes time for him to hurt. 

The two of you move out the door and through a hallway. Reiner is too far away to pay much attention to what he sees. His breath is loud, thick in his chest and all that his attention will stay on for long. And after a moment of pain as his shattered legs take too much weight trying to move his bulky body, he’s in a new room. A bathroom, this time, strange and bright. 

Everything looks wrong in a way that Reiner doesn’t think about for long. You let him lean against the wall, say something that he can’t hear, and move to start peeling his blood-soaked clothes off of him. Whatever tatters are left in the first place. His whole body hurts, but Reiner isn’t thinking about it for long. His eyes are caught on some shimmer of light glistening on the white tub, far away from everything that hurts.

And then, the bloody fabric is off of him, on the floor, little smears of crimson left on the tile beneath it. There’s red on you too, his blood, and the sight of it makes the world around Reiner go twice as blurry. 

You ease him down into the bathtub, white cool against his heated, aching skin. Reiner looks down and sees bruises, sees gashes and scars and raw, fresh skin. He sees a body that’s both his own and foreign. 

(Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s smaller, weaker, innocent in a way that the mission took away from him years ago.)

You move something, and water begins to flow into the tub. The first splash of it is  _ hot,  _ searing Reiner’s skin and jerking him back to something like reality. 

He breathes. In and out. He watches the water begin to pool and lap against his legs, tinged red already. It’s warm. It’s warmer than his skin, than steam, and Reiner feels close to tears at the sensation of it all. Hurting all the while, he reaches out a hand, dipping crooked fingers into the heat.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” It’s the first thing you’ve said in a while that registers, and Reiner snaps up to look at you in an instant. You’re smiling, busying your hands with what looks to be a washcloth. 

The next thing he knows, you’re reaching out to him, steady and slow. Reiner flinches anyway. The water is filling around his thighs, over his skin, and you dip the cloth into the stream, wetting it. A touch to his shoulder comes next, so, so gentle. Time goes blurry again for a few minutes, and Reiner jerks back to attention to a body considerably less bloody. 

You work like that, little by little, until Reiner is now much less bloody. You have to drain and refill the tub twice, but the water comes out warm every time, burning him down to the raw parts of him that can’t believe he’s being treated so kindly even now. Your hands are gentle, not scratching or scrubbing too roughly, and you’ve been talking to him all the while, voice low and soft, like you’re soothing some frightened thing. 

“We’re almost done. You’re going to feel a lot better with all of this off of you. You’re doing great.” It’s nonsense. Terrifyingly kind nonsense. 

And then, Reiner is a mess of bruises and scars and warm, warm skin. There’s less blood now, and he can’t quite remember when or how that happened, just that his nerves are buzzing and every part of him is  _ warm  _ down to his bones. 

“Hair next, okay?” you ask, and Reiner doesn’t register what you mean until you’re moving again, hands dizzyingly close to his face. 

There’s the smell of something sweet in the air, blocking out the metallic tang of blood. He belatedly realizes that it’s soap, thin and fragrant, instead of bricks that sear the skin. 

Your hands are in his hair a second later, moving in blurs that Reiner can’t track. He feels dizzy, weak, like the whole world has twisted a few inches on its axis. He breathes, watches his own chest expand. He watches the crooked points of broken ribs under his skin. You scratch at his scalp, painfully gentle, and the breath that leaves him is almost a sob. 

Reiner’s scalp has a thousand nerves, and suddenly, every one of them is burning like gunpowder. There’s skin on skin, gentle touches that feel so dangerously like you’re petting, caring, instead of simply scrubbing the blood off of something you feel sorry for. 

Reiner tries to breathe. 

Reiner tries to pretend like it’s just the steam leaving wetness on his cheeks, around his eyes. 

And then, you’re done. There’s hot water rushing over his head a second later, engulfing him in warmth that feels like it could reach his lungs, but Reiner only faintly registers it. He’s floating, burning, feeling a dizzying rush like the moment when his Warrior forms. 

You ease him out of the bathtub, get him into a shirt and pants, both small on his bulky frame, mumbling something about a male relative and hoping they’ll fit. Reiner can’t hear you past the rushing in his ears, windfall and the thundering of his useless, panicked heart. He’s pliant, almost limp, too distant to really think about how much he’s hurting. 

Everything goes fuzzy around the edges again. Everything swirls, and a moment later, he’s back in the bedroom, being eased gently back to where he started. The ceiling spins, and Reiner’s breath is too loud in his ears. 

There’s a pause. You smile at him one more time, looking somehow frayed around the edges, and then you’re gone. 

Reiner can’t quite place how long ago you left. 

He thinks, gratefully, that he’s too tired to be afraid. There doesn’t seem to be any room left for fear in his broken, mangled body. Like this, where everything seems so soft and far away, Reiner wonders how long it would take him to notice if you did decide to kill him. If he’d notice at all, past the fog in his head, until he was bleeding out once and for all. 

Reiner shifts, leans his face against the pillows while his body is too detached to complain about the movement. The fabric smells of something fresh and clean, and a second later, reality snaps back into place. 

It’s like smashing face first into a wall. In the span of an instant, Reiner is back in his body, the world crystal clear and every part of him burning with pain. He heaves a breath, jagged and deep at the sudden rush of feeling. For one dangerous moment, he thinks he might throw up. Reiner shakes, shakes like every bit of stress he’s been holding back for the past who-knows-how-long is slamming into him at once. His chest is tight, and everything is too clear, too bright, too  _ real.  _

And yet, everything is soft around him. Reiner is warm. He’s clean. He’s in fresh, soft clothes, eased into a bed instead of tied down and cut open until he– until– 

Reiner cuts that thought off where it hangs. 

He should sleep. Sleep means healing, and healing means being able to defend himself. Reiner is tired down to his bones, but the thought of closing his eyes leaves him shuddering. He’s not safe. He’ll never be safe again, and there’s nothing he can ever do to take it all back. 

Reiner lays there, helpless to the sobs shaking him, hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his falling apart. 

. . . 

You come downstairs again, red around your eyes and a set to your mouth that Annie has never seen before. You collapse onto the couch like your body couldn’t hold you up a second longer, and your shoulders shake in a way that makes something in Annie’s chest clech. 

She sits and stares for a long moment, afraid to reach out and ruin things, to make anything  _ worse.  _ You talk before she works up the courage to try to comfort you. 

“What am I going to  _ do _ .” It’s not a question. Annie tries not to flinch.

“He’s dissociating. He’s definitely dissociating. I’m pretty sure he has a split personality or  _ something _ .” You breathe, choke, sob again. “Half of the time he acts like I’m going to start torturing him at any second, and half the time he looks at me like he can’t fathom why he’s here in the first place. I know that he can heal, I believe you, but I don’t know how to  _ fix  _ this.”

Your voice breaks, sharp and desperate.

“ _ What did they do to you _ ?”

You can’t–, you can’t ask that question–. Terror catches hard in Annie’s lungs, choking her on frigid air. There are a thousand things she hasn’t told you, a thousand things that would make you never look at her the same. You still don’t know what a monster she really is. 

She’s glass, shattered into endless pieces and too sharp to ever try to fix. You’re sticking your hands into the mess, reaching for parts of her that she doesn’t know how to keep from hurting you. If you touch her, you’ll bleed. If she tells you the truth, you won’t  _ love  _ her like you do. Reiner is made of something stronger, less breakable. He’s been worn and twisted into countless messy knots, frayed around the edges and impossible to ever restore, but he won’t hurt you the way she will. He’s not the  _ same.  _

You’re looking at her like you’re worried, and Annie can’t take it. She’s sitting here like a coward, grasping futility at her own broken pieces while you try to hold the both of them together. You’ve been nothing but good to her, and all she does to repay it is keep secrets and block out the world. Annie bites her lip, tastes blood, and hates,  _ hates _ –

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and sounds so small. 

“Hey, no, don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’m just stressed. It’ll be okay.” You reach out to her, the same gentle motion she’s grown so used to, and Annie can’t live with herself for a second longer. 

“I’ll– I’ll talk to him.” She’s talking before she knows what she’s saying, even as she can barely find her voice. 

“We know each other. I, I-I told you. We’re from the same place, Marley. His name is Reiner Braun and we were on the same mission. He knows me, and I’ll talk to him. I don’t want you to worry, please.” Her voice is a pathetic little croak, and it’s so unlike anything Annie has ever been. 

She broke, back when you first forgave her, and she knows it. Every defense she had, every part of her that made sure no one could get too close has shattered. She’s raw, open, bloody and  _ weak.  _ She couldn’t go back to her old self if she tried, now that she knows what it feels like to be seen as a broken little girl instead of a tool, a warrior, a monster. 

Annie breathes, feels herself shaking. This isn’t who she’s supposed to be. Everything she was trained to hide has been forced to the surface. 

You scoot closer and hug her, burying your face in her hair. It’s so tight that Annie almost feels like all of her broken pieces could be squeezed back together. She’s clinging before she can stop herself. 

“If you want to talk to him, it’s okay. You can do whatever you want to. You know I want you to do what you’ll be happy with. Don’t think I won’t be right there with you, though. I know you’re scared, Annie. I’m scared too. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to help. I want to help you.”

The two of you sit there like that for a while, Annie letting herself be squeezed to your chest like you can somehow keep her together. It’s calming, in a way that she’s not used to. You start rubbing her back after a minute, and Annie feels rather like she’s going to cry. Like this, it almost feels like things are going to be okay. 

When you stand up, you take her hand– small and callused against your soft skin– and pull her to her feet. Annie goes with you easily, half-thinking of the days when she’d thrown people for less. When she was in training, watching her back every second for anything that could ruin her mission, pushing people away before they could hurt her. Her defences are always down around you, these days, and she’s finding it harder and harder to see why that’s a bad thing. 

“I’ll be with you, okay?” you say, like everything will be alright. “We’ll talk to Reiner together. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

And your eyes are soft, your hand is softer, and Annie doesn’t know how she ever lived without this. Breath comes easily now, into her lungs. When you tell her that she’ll be okay, it’s so easy to believe it. 

Reiner is an idiot. Without her, he and Bertoldt must have gotten into worlds of trouble. The boys always were the dumb ones back when they were young, and she can’t imagine what kinds of choices they would have made without  _ someone  _ level-headed with them. It’s no wonder Reiner’s such a mess. He’s always been dumb and headstrong enough to walk right into trouble without a second thought to his own safety. 

Annie thinks of the brave-eyed little boy she knew ten years ago. The Warrior of a child who thought that he could conquer anything. The boy who never did anything but open his heart to everyone around him. 

And she believes that everything will be okay. 

. . .

Minutes have passed, or maybe hours. The light is flickering patterns across the walls, hazy through the wisps of curtains hanging over the windows like gauze. Reiner can’t tell how long it’s been, just that he’s cried until his body didn’t have anything left to give up. 

He’s still breathing, broken ribs aching with every little move. He hurts. He hurts everywhere, and all he wants is to curl up and hide and never wake up again. His mind screams that this pain is nothing, that a Warrior should be able to take it, that what’s happening to Bertoldt, wherever he is, has to be a thousand times worse. 

That last thought hurts like a knife to the chest, sending stabbing little pangs of misery through him. 

Apparently, Reiner  _ can  _ cry more. 

And then the door is creaking open, and his breath is catching in his chest. It’s time. It’s time for the hurting to start. This time for sure you’re going to start asking questions. 

“Reiner, sit up. You’re alright and we both know it.” A sickeningly familiar voice speaks to him, just as cold as he remembers it. 

Eyes snapping open, Reiner rolls, forces himself up on his elbows. It can’t be– it can’t– It’s  _ not  _ her, not here. Annie is dead or tortured or worse, captured by the military ages ago, and yet–  _ yet _ –

Reiner’s vision focuses, and it’s Annie, sold and real, glaring at him through pale lashes. She’s dressed in strange clothes, baggy and soft around her small frame. Her hair is down, falling around her shoulders in a style he hasn’t seen since she was a little girl. Something about her face is softer, less sharp, but it’s  _ her.  _ There’s no mistaking her voice, her posture, and Reiner can’t think of a single reason why any of this is possible. 

“See? I knew you could get up on your own,” Annie says, sharply, crossing her arms in front of herself. You’re there, standing next to her, looking almost concerned, and it can’t– can’t– Annie is  _ healthy,  _ not bloody or worn or miserable. “You’ve been worrying them to death, acting like this. It’s time to quit acting like a child, Reiner.”

Swallowing hard, Reiner tries to focus past the way his vision spins. He’s half certain he’s dreaming, but then Annie is stepping forwards, giving his shoulder a sharp tap that sends pain arcing through all of him in waves. 

“Hey, Annie, don’t be too rough…” you say, almost nervously, and Annie looks over her shoulder with a gaze softer than Reiner ever knew she was capable of. 

“It’s fine. He’s fine. Reiner’s an idiot, and this is how you get through to him. I w-won’t do anything that will hurt him.” The last part is said like an afterthought, a reassurance, like Annie is trying to make you feel better. Reiner has never known Annie to care about the feelings of much of anyone, at least not where anyone could see it. 

Reiner is breathing too fast, head spinning and body starting to shudder. Annie sits down on the bed next to him, stares him down with the same cool gaze he’s known for  _ years,  _ and Annie– Annie– 

“You don’t have to act like they’re going to hurt you. It’s… it’s scary, I know,” she says, and this, this  _ can’t  _ be the Annie he knows. “They’re a good person, Reiner. They won’t hurt you. Either of us. W-We’re safe here.” She closes her eyes, swallows, looking weaker than Reiner can ever remember her. “They know, Reiner. They know about the walls and what we d-did and  _ everything.  _ I told them, and they forgave me. They’ll forgive you too.”

The world  _ shakes.  _ For an instant, Reiner can feel it all over again. Crashing through stone, through wood. Everything hot around him. Screams and people running and  _ all of it because of  _ **_him._ **

Reiner gags, chokes, leans over the edge of the bed so fast his head spins as what little is in his stomach makes a violent reappearance. 

For an instant, he’s a child again, standing in the ruins of the city he destroyed, screaming and screaming and  _ screaming  _ because they never told him the mission would be like this, because there’s no fixing what he’s done, because people are dead and it’s all his fault and there will never,  _ never  _ be any taking it back. 

Then, everything snaps back into place. There are tears streaking down his face, and he’s shaking so hard he can feel it in his  _ teeth.  _ The sensation is all the registers, body coiled tight like he’s going to need to run or fight or protect himself. Distantly, he hears Annie telling you to stay back, and oh, he  _ can’t breathe.  _ Reiner vomits again, fingers tearing holes in your sheets from how tightly he’s holding on. The ceiling spins, the light is burning into his eyes, and the guilt is a living thing clawing its way up his chest. He’s going to die here. He can’t  _ take  _ this. 

Suddenly, Reiner finds his breath. As soon as there’s air in his chest, he’s howling, curling up on himself and trying to make his massive body small. Annie is here and she’s alive and she says that he’s safe, but Reiner knows what it feels like to have someone he loved like family go for his throat, and Reiner can’t imagine that she could be telling the truth. 

You’re next to him before he knows what’s happening, easing yourself into the space where Annie was a minute ago. 

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Come on, Reiner, breathe for me. You’re going to be okay.” Your voice is soft and kind, but it can’t be meant for him. You don’t  _ know.  _ You don’t understand. 

“Shut up!” he snaps, clawing at his hair. “You don’t get it. You’re  _ lying.  _ We’ve killed people and you know it and you’re going to make us  _ hurt.  _ It’s not– There isn’t– There isn’t anything left for me! We failed the mission and Bertoldt is all alone and there’s no going back home, ever, and, and–”

Reiner’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears. The world is both fuzzy around the edges and so vivid it hurts. 

Your hand is on his back again, too soft and too much and he’s curling in on himself tight and small, as if he could ever hide from everything that’s tearing him apart. Every part of him burns with guilt and fear, and he knows, he  _ knows  _ that this is where he’s going to die. 

“There’s nothing left for me.” 

It’s everything he’s been thinking for four years. The fear that’s been settled at the bottom of his chest, feeding on his guilt and growing into a monster that can eat him whole. 

And then, then, you take his hand in yours, uncurling his fingers from the sheets. Reiner wants to tear his hand away, wants to scream, and hide and never let anyone touch him again, just smash everything that can hurt him into little pieces that will never hurt him again. 

“We can think about that later. You’re not there. You’re here. There’s no more mission. You don’t have to hurt people anymore.” 

The howl that comes out of him is barely human. Reiner is breathing, but the air is doing nothing but making him dizzy and sick. There’s terror in his gut and guilt clamping down on his windpipe. He hurts everywhere, and he knows,  _ knows  _ that there’s no going back this time. Annie’s told you everything, and whatever kind of person you are that you want to take care of her, there’s no way that’s going to apply to an oversized monster of a boy who’s so broken that there’s no room for the person he used to be. 

It would be better, Reiner thinks, if he wasn’t himself anymore at all. 

. . . 

The way Reiner falls apart is sickening. Annie thinks that she was wrong about him. He wasn’t just worn at the edges; he was an explosion waiting to happen. 

As soon as he started breaking down, Annie steps back. She’s done her part, and hopefully gotten through to him. You’re the one who knows how to comfort people, how to make people like them feel safe. She’s just the one who understands that Reiner has to  _ break  _ before anything is ever going to be able to start fixing him. 

It’s like scooping the infection out of a wound, or re-setting a broken bone that’s healed all wrong. The lot of them have fixed themselves so many times, with so little idea of how to do it, that this was what had to happen now to make anything better. It had hurt when you took her apart. Your forgiveness and acceptance had made her feel like she was going to burn up from the inside out. It  _ would _ hurt. But it would heal. 

Reiner curled up like, for all his size, he thought he could hide in the blankets and never have to face any of this again.

Just watching it made Annie feel vaguely sick. She’d been like this too, just a short while ago, and she couldn’t imagine how you were managing to work through the both of them without breaking down yourself. 

She’s shaking. Her hands are trembling, and her breath is coming short. It’s hard to see Reiner, of all people, break apart. But you’re sitting next to him, holding his hand, repeating the same comforting words you used when it was her who was falling to pieces. 

When Reiner slips out of the tight little ball he’s worked himself into, Annie’s heart drops. It’s not Reiner, not the one she knows. It’s the Reiner who lost himself in the hope that they’d ever be anything but traitors. This Reiner doesn’t look quite so broken. Even though he has the same gaunt edge to his features, the same stress wearing him down from the inside, he’s missing the guilt that lives inside all of them. 

This Reiner doesn’t think he’s going to die at your hands. This Reiner would never understand why he deserved in the first place. 

Annie swallows, tries not to shake her head. She should have known that Reiner would retreat into himself like this. When he can’t take something, he hides, mind setting up enough barriers that the fragile parts of him don’t have to face the world around him. 

Reiner looks at where your hands are joined. He’s shaking, face tear-streaked and bruised. Annie doesn’t know how much he remembers of what just happened, but he looks so weak, so scared.

You’re talking to this Reiner just as gently, still rubbing your thumb over his bruised, torn open knuckles, comforting him like it’s perfectly okay that he became a different person right in front of you. Annie is reminded all over again that you’re  _ good,  _ too good for any of them. You’re going to fix this, somehow, the same way you fixed her. 

The new Reiner catches sight of her, grins wide and waves with as much motion as his battered body can manage. 

Annie sighs, and hopes. She’s started to believe that there’s hope for the both of them, that maybe, somehow, you’ll be able to give peace to Reiner the same as you did her. It’s a nice thought, imagining him as content as she’s felt over the past weeks, and by the time Annie catches herself thinking that she’d be  _ happy  _ for him, she doesn’t have it in her to hate herself for caring so much. 


End file.
